


Mortui Non Mordant

by Tezy



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Alternative Universe - Vampires, Cliche, Crack Treated Seriously, Demons, Devils, Don't take any of this seriously, Humor, I just wanted an outlet for my vampire puns, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Probably not updated half as much as it should be, Supernatural Elements, Teamwork makes the dreamwork, Vague references to obscure folklore, Vampire Hunters, Vampire Slayer(s), Vampires, Very bad vampire humor, Werewolves, You will regret it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2018-11-13 18:08:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 31,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11190507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tezy/pseuds/Tezy
Summary: “Does that matter right now? I’m – fucking dead, man. I wanted to do so much shit with my life before I died!”“You still can,” the guy said. “Like, nothing’s stopping you.”Gerard leapt to his feet, aghast at how casually he was treating his death. That wasn’t very good manners. “Except being dead.”“What did you want? Fucking ballet dancing at your funeral? Get over it, we all did.”





	1. “You’re a vampire, not a zombie.”

It was Friday, and Gerard was determined to have a good time tonight. He’d had a week of deadlines and antsy bosses breathing down his neck, even though he mostly worked from home, and he was really free to have a few drinks and _relax_.

 

He went to his favourite local bar, the one that was little more than an old shack with a new paint job. Inside smelled like a heady combination of sweat, smoke and vomit, eau de drunk. There was hardly anybody in there at all, except the bored-looking barman and one guy sat at the end of the bar in the corner, looking like he was trying to melt into the shadows.

 

Gerard took a seat at the other end of the bar and ordered a whisky and coke, and checked out the guy.

 

He was very attractive. Pale, slight, with hair which seemed to be red-gold in the dim-light of the bar, and he had striking cheekbones. He seemed to smolder a lot, like he wasn’t quite aware this was the twenty-first century and most people didn’t smolder anymore. Gerard had always had a soft spot for people who were a little bit odd.

 

Gerard caught his eye at few times, and smiled encouragingly. He never made the first move, not considering how many moderately-attractive guys turned out to be less than enamoured with his rather awkward come-ons.

 

After his second drink, he turned back to the bar to order another and startled when he realised that the man had taken the seat next to him. He hadn’t even noticed him move from the corner.

 

He smiled, sharp and beautiful, and said, “I’m Lloyd. Can I buy you a drink?” and Gerard just nodded dumbly, unable to tear his eyes away from the rich golden brown of Lloyd’s own.

 

**

 

They fucked on Gerard’s kitchen table.

 

And then they fucked on the floor.

 

At some point in their enthusiasm, they managed to send one of the dirty glasses that had been left on the table flying into the floor. At the time, Gerard hadn’t cared, but now – even as drunk as he was – he was still aware of how shitty it would be to step on glass in the morning.

 

Lloyd was smirking at him, taking slow drags of his freshly-lit cigarette, as Gerard scrabbled around trying to pick up all the smashed pieces of glass on the floor. He thought he had them all, and he went to dump them in the bin, when he noticed one more tiny piece next to his foot.

 

He bent down and made a grab for it, but the glass rolled between his fingers, and then he felt the sharp slide of skin breaking. He recoiled, dropping the rest of the glass in the process.

 

“Ah, for fuck’s sake,” he said, cupping his hand and looking at the tiny bead of blood that had swelled up on his thumb. It was kind of pathetic how little it was bleeding considering how much it hurt.

 

“ _Shit_ ,” he heard behind him. He spun around, and realised his affable companion was now looking at him with a lot less affability. In fact, he looked a bit like he wanted to eat him. The cigarette was on the floor, forgotten.

 

“I’m so sorry, please don’t hold this against me,” Lloyd said, suddenly so much closer, so close Gerard could count his eyelashes, and then he sunk his fangs into Gerard’s neck.

 

**

 

He woke up in bed with the worst hangover he’d ever had, and for a moment he just stared blearily at the ceiling and considered if it was worth the effort he’d expend to throw himself off a bridge. It felt like he’d been up far too long, like when he’d pull all-nighters to finish projects, but he’d also been hit by a truck. His blood was fizzing in his veins like cherry soda. Everything was too loud – a pounding in his head which was worse everytime he breathed. He swore he could hear upstairs smashing around their apartment like they had a vendetta against the floor.

 

He pulled himself into a sitting position, and his vision began bleeding black at the edges, and he let out a small whine and fell back into the comfort of his bed.

 

It was only then he realised that his head was definitely the place that hurt the most, but his neck was also throbbing. He raised a hand to his neck and sought out the problem. His fingers brushed unnaturally-heated skin and he hissed in pain. It felt like somebody had held a hot iron there, the under-the-skin burning which only went away with gallons of ice cold water.

 

The upstairs neighbours were being even louder now, as if they knew he was suffering and wanted to make everything ten times worse.

 

He sighed, rolled over and went back to sleep.

 

**

 

It was only when he woke for the second time he realised that he didn’t know how he’d gotten back into his bed the night before. Last he remembered, the guy from the bar and him had fucked in the kitchen and then – nothing. It was like he’d blacked out the rest of the night, but even when he drank his own weight in whisky he’d remember what he did the night before in the morning. This was often more of a curse than a blessing.

 

He threw out a hand and blindly groped for his phone, then pulled it close to his face so he didn’t have to move and stared at the time.

 

_4:37pm, Sunday 19 th June_

_3 missed calls, 2 new texts_

 

He’d definitely slept in. It was only after a moment that the day next to the time hit him.

 

He stared at his phone, frowned, then realised that it wasn’t lying to him. He’d gone out on Friday night. It was now Sunday. He’d lost a whole day? That seemed like more than the normal hangover recovery period. Maybe he’d been roofied. That guy had been _awfully_ twitchy.

 

Wait, where had the guy even gone? Was he the one that had put Gerard to bed? It seemed like rather a maternal thing for a one-night stand to do, but maybe he didn’t enjoy leaving unconscious men on kitchen floors.

 

Gerard’s head was still pounding, but his limbs felt like they were doing a little better now. He sat up again. He held his breath for a moment, but no blackness rushed up to meet him, so he slowly shifted around so he could put his feet on the floor. The floor felt warm, which was new, because he didn’t turn on the heating most days. In fact, the whole room felt overly hot, and the air had an edge of staleness to it. He wrinkled his nose up as he pulled himself to his feet.

 

He swayed for a moment, and then found his balance, and shuffled into the bathroom to brush his teeth because his mouth tasted like something had died in there, and maybe wash his face of Friday night’s shame and grime and leftover makeup.

 

He glanced up into the mirror and then froze.

 

He blinked, once, twice, then realised he wasn’t imagining things.

 

He didn’t have a reflection anymore.

 

**

 

At first he thought he was seeing things, then he considered that he may still be drunk, but this was even beyond his normal level. On a night out, he’d normally drink too much, vomit his guts up, cry a bit, and then fall asleep. It was a nice, solid routine. His reflection disappearing was _not_ part of this plan.

 

He tried going out of the room and coming back, but that didn’t help and walking that much made him even more dizzy. The room swayed unhappily, and he thought he might just pass out again. Maybe everything would be back to normal when he woke up.

 

He didn’t get a chance to find out though, because on his second loop from his bedroom to his bathroom, he heard a crash in his hallway and froze. He lived alone – always had done – and whilst his apartment occasionally groaned and creaked, that was not just the wind. He could hear voices and everything.

 

He poked his head warily around his bedroom door.

 

There was nothing there.

 

Taking a relieved breath, he turned around and –

 

“Hi, we’re your new vampire guardians. Welcome to your new undead life. Any questions?”

 

“What the _fuck_.”

 

**

 

The two men who had mysteriously appeared in his bedroom took him by the arms and lead him into the lounge. Both were taller than him, but one had very big, very wild hair which seemed to be fighting his face for the most attention, and the other was very frowny and very blond like a modern viking.

 

They took him to the couch and gently pushed him into a sitting position. “Check your pulse,” one said. He didn’t catch which one was speaking, but obediently he curled his fingers up and pressed them to his neck, and sure as hell, there was no tell-tale thud of his heart even though he swore he could feel it still racing in his chest.

 

“How are you feeling?” Frowny viking didn’t seem to care about the answer, but it was nice of him to ask.

 

“Like I’ve crawled out of my own grave in search of fresh brains.” He was freaking out, which he didn’t think was unforgivable. In his experience, once someone was dead, they were supposed to stay dead. He was pretty sure that’s what the Discovery Channel had taught him.

 

“Wrong undead,” Frowny viking said. “You’re a vampire, not a zombie.”

 

Despite the many books and movies Gerard had seen and read, he'd never actually stopped to consider that vampires could be real. And if they were, what else could be real? It seemed a bit far-fetched that a corpse could drink blood and stay – well, not living, but certainly walking around. His head swam slightly.

 

“Does that matter right now? I’m – fucking _dead_ , man. I wanted to do so much shit with my life before I died!”

 

Gerard was pretty sure he wasn’t meant to become a vampire. It hadn’t really been in his after Art School plans. He’d thought he might settle down in a nice little place, with less annual murders than his hometown, and draw a bit and even put money in a pension. He was pretty certain that’s what adults did.

 

But apparently that was too much to hope for.

 

“You still can,” the guy said. “Like, nothing’s stopping you.”

 

Gerard leapt to his feet, aghast at how casually he was treating his death. That wasn’t very good manners. “Except being _dead_.”

 

“What did you want? Fucking ballet dancing at your funeral? Get over it, we all did.”

 

Big hair guy sighed. “ _Bob_ ,” he said, low like a warning.

 

After a few minutes of pacing, and then a few more minutes of freaking out, and then a few minutes of chanting ‘What the fuck’ under his breath, Gerard recovered enough to point a shaky finger at him and went, “How the fuck do I know you’re telling the truth?”

 

He made a pinched face, as if he’d been expecting this and wasn’t looking forward to it. He bent down to his calf, and slid a knife out of a holster that Gerard hadn’t even noticed, and then he held out his arm to Gerard and said, “Look.”

 

Then, calmly, he slit his wrist.

 

Gerard went to shriek and jump backwards, but instead of red blood spurting out and redecorating his entire apartment, only a tiny trickle of sluggish black liquid swelled up. It smelled – wrong. Stale, somehow, like old motor oil, not blood. Gerard could taste it in the back of his throat.

 

“Do you want to check my pulse too?” he asked, as he slid the knife back into its holder and brought his wrist up to his mouth. He ran his tongue over the wound, which seemed to twist up, then the skin pushed together. It was still there, red and angry, but it wasn’t bleeding and it wasn’t gaping open anymore.

 

“I think I’m good,” Gerard said, trying to swallow back his nausea. Could vampires even vomit? He’d have to ask them that. Then, glancing around the room, he realised something. “Hold on a minute. It’s fucking, daylight. And you’re up? Isn’t that against like, every vampire characterisation ever?”

 

Bob grunted. “Do we really have to the do whole 'explain the lore' shit, Ray?”

 

The guy with all the hair – Ray – looked like he’d been over this same argument more than once. He just sighed, and said, “I mean, that is our _job,_ Bob. You know, as seniors, we should take fledglings under our wings, make sure they don't slaughter half of New York again.”

 

Gerard wasn’t proud of how high-pitched his voice went when he said, “ _Again_?”

 

“Look, let’s sit down and have a nice long chat,” Ray said patiently.

 

**

 

Gerard sat stiffly on his couch, and Ray perched awkwardly on the edge of the armchair next to it. Bob declined to take a seat, hovering in the corner and looking dark and mysterious, like, Gerard, supposed, vampires were meant to look.

 

“Here,” Ray said, tossing a packet Gerard’s way that he’d recovered from the messenger bag he was carrying. Gerard didn’t think it was very undead to use a messenger bag, but apparently they were useful whether you were alive or not. “Drink up, you’ll need it.”

 

Gerard caught the packet without even trying to, which surprised him because he’d always been a clumsy motherfucker, and he held it up to see what it actually was. It looked a bit like a Capri Sun but without any branding, just plain silver. Something about it made his nose twitch slightly, but he couldn’t figure out what. He ripped the straw off the side and stabbed it through the top of the carton, then took a long drink. At first, he wasn’t impressed at it. It was lukewarm and tasted off somehow, as if it was unnatural to drink it. But when he swallowed, he changed his mind entirely. His mouth and throat burst with flavour, a sweet-sour with a twist of heat following.

 

He took another long gulp, enjoying the slide of it down his parched throat. Until that point, he hadn’t realised quite how thirsty he’d been. “What is this?”

 

Ray looked quietly amused at how fast he was gulping it down. “That one? O Negative I think. They all have their own flavour. I like those ones, though.”

 

Gerard choked on the current mouthful of liquid he had – “It’s _blood_?”

 

Bob looked unimpressed. “What part of vampire did you not understand? Was it the dead part, or the bloodsucker part?”

 

Gerard wanted to retch, wanted to throw it up, but he couldn’t make himself. It tasted so good. His eyes watered slightly at the idea, and Ray reached over and touched his shoulder, apparently seeking to comfort him. “Dude, relax. It’s all donated. Totally cruelty-free.”

 

“Oh my god,” he moaned, throwing the empty packet on the floor. “I need some water.”


	2. “I’m Frank, The Slayer.”

He wasn’t that surprised when he walked back into his kitchen in search of some water and he saw that yet again there was a random stranger hanging around, poking his head into Gerard’s cupboards and making a lot of noise.

 

“Um, excuse me,” he tried, only a little unnerved now. He was totally getting used to this whole assertive vampire business.

 

A head poked up over the cupboard door, looking confused at the interruption, as if this guy spent a lot of time in people’s kitchens and wasn’t happy at being spoken to about it. “What?” the new guy said, slightly too snappily. He stepped away from his cupboard shield and Gerard realised he was small and he was dressed like he belonged in the gangs of slightly morose-looking teenagers Gerard saw hanging around the nightclubs downtown, trying to bum smokes and all wearing less-than-ironic band shirts and ripped jeans.

 

Maybe that explained why he was chilling in his kitchen. Punks never had much sense anyway, fashion or otherwise.

 

“Are you – what are you doing in my kitchen?”

 

“Looking for snacks, man. This place is dead. Do you only own pickles and out-of-date cheese crackers?” The guy ran a hand through his hair, which, Gerard thought, would be considered ridiculous on most other people, faded black and curling around the nape of his neck. Somehow, he made it work.

 

“Pretty much,” Gerard admitted. Grocery shopping had never been his strong point – that’s what takeaway was for. “Who are you?”

 

“Oh! I’m Frank, The Slayer,” he said, with grave seriousness, or at least as much seriousness as a tiny man with a stupid haircut could manage.

 

“Slayer? Like, a vampire slayer?”

 

“No, dipshit, the band. Of course I mean a vampire slayer.” Gerard started backing up a few steps, and Frank just laughed at him, high and nasally. “Don’t be stupid. I only stake the annoying ones that kill people.”

 

“What a… relief,” he said faintly. “Again, _w_ _hy_ are you in my kitchen?”

 

Ray’s head appeared around the kitchen door then, and he made an expression like a mother who was very much sick of her brood’s shit. That probably wasn’t far from the truth. “You’re not The Slayer,” he said patiently. “You’re _a_ slayer. There’s like, ten of you in this area alone. You’re not even a very _good_ slayer.”

 

“A, the, same difference,” Frank said airily, waving a hand around. “Point is, I kill things that are supernatural and spooky. Have you got any beers?”

 

Gerard thought his brain might have sustained whiplash from the sharp turn in conversation, but after a moment he nodded and pointed at the fridge. Frank made an excited noise which was more suited to teenage girls than not very good vampire slayers.

 

**

 

Two beers in hand, Frank led the way back into Gerard’s lounge.

 

Bob was crouched near his TV set, looking confused, and muttering something under his breath. When he saw Ray, he rounded on him with a snappy, “I'm five hundred years old, why doesn't this fucking infernal technology want to bend to my will?”

 

“It’s unplugged,” Gerard offered.

 

“Ah.” Bob looked contrite for a moment, before shuffling around the back of the set and plugging it back in. He stood up, looking pleased for a moment, then said, “Where’s your remote?”

 

“Down one of the sofa cushions. Look, can we talk? Before somebody else apparates into my kitchen?”

 

“I came in through the window, actually,” Frank said.

 

“I’m on the _third floor._ ”

 

“Fire escape. Man, you should really lock your kitchen window. All sorts could get in there.”

 

“Thanks for the warning,” Gerard replied flatly. “I didn’t know I’d agreed to host the Vampire Anonymous support group.”

 

Frank looked offended. His ears looked offended. Even his ratty converse looked offended. “I’m not a vampire. I’m the _slayer._ Every group needs a slayer.”

 

Gerard placed his hands on his hips and rounded on Ray. “So. You never answered. It’s daylight. I know this place is kind of dark and gloomy, but that’s definitely sunlight coming through my curtains. Why aren’t we all ash?”

 

“Dracula could totally prance around in broad daylight, Nosferatu who was just a little bitch who didn't like humans so he invented the whole 'sunlight is deadly' shit.” Bob grunted, then poked a finger at Gerard. “You just won’t be able to like, do extreme stuff in sunlight. It weakens us. And sometimes we get really, really bad sunburns.”

 

“Can I turn into a bat?”

 

Bob didn’t even blink, just gave Gerard a withering look. “Why the _fuck_ would you want to turn into a bat?”

 

“Bats are cool,” Frank said defensively. “But sadly not. Only agility, speed, strength. Um. What did I miss?”

 

“You’re not part of this club, Frank,” Ray said. “You’re a slayer.”

 

“I kill you guys, I think I know enough about you.”

 

There was a long-suffering sigh from Ray. “I should make, like, leaflets,” he muttered under his breath, as he took Gerard by the shoulders and guided him back into his seat. “Ask away. I’ll try and answer everything I can.”

 

**

 

Gerard asked everything he could think of. Most importantly, what did they eat? Blood packets, mostly, donated by some of the humans in the know or raided from blood banks (Gerard flinched at that idea, at the thought of robbing from humans who needed blood transfusions, but Ray patiently explained it was that or kill humans anyway, so Gerard had to concede that point.) Sometimes, they had willing victims, but it was hard not to take too much from a living source so only those who had been vampires for a long time did that.

 

Eventually, Gerard was running out of questions, but his mind was brimming with new information. He felt sick, dizzy and very much out of his depth, and he wasn’t sure all of that was due to his hangover.

 

“No, we can’t vomit,” Ray said. “Is that everything?”

 

“Um. Can we control minds, like in, uh, the movies?”

 

“ _No_. Some can pick up on other vampire’s thoughts, but it’s a rare gift.” Ray’s eyes flicked somewhere over Gerard’s shoulder, but Gerard wasn’t quick enough to catch where to before his eyes were focusing back on Gerard’s.

 

Gerard swallowed uncomfortably. “What about, like, crosses and consecrated ground and holy water?”

 

“Holy water stings. I mean, technically, we might be considered agents of Satan, but our duties are mostly ceremonial.” Ray shrugged easily. “Personally, I don’t find churches comfortable, but I never did. Nothing to do with vampirism. I was a pagan.”

 

“Fucking hippy,” Bob muttered. He was looking bored, staring at the empty TV screen as if he could will it into life. “Look, we’ve been here for far too long. We need to get going.”

 

“Going? Going where?” Gerard asked desperately.

 

“Oh. We’re kind of – on the hunt?” Ray said. “We only meant to check in on you, make sure your sire was looking after you. Apparently, your sire was a massive fucking asshole, because he’s fled.” Ray made a face, as if this was the worst thing he could imagine. “I guess you’re ours now.”

 

“What do you do?”

 

“We fight things,” Frank said, apparently done with his beers now. He crumpled up the cans easily between his hands like they were made of tin foil. He leaned forward, licking his lips, and said, “If there’s a big nasty around, it’s ours.”

 

**

 

Gerard texted his brother with shaking fingers.

 

‘ _Going out of town for a bit. Need some space. Love you, G x’_

 

He hoped it wasn’t the last time he got to text his brother. He slid his phone back into his pocket, and turned and headed into his bedroom. Frank was already digging through his drawers and wardrobe, chucking things onto his bed in a rather haphazard fashion. Apparently he enjoyed going through people’s things.

 

“This is shit,” Frank said firmly, looking over at Gerard. “How am I meant to make sure you pack for every situation when all you own is skinny jeans? Do you know how hard it is to do a high kick while wearing skinny jeans? Those things are really tight.”

 

“I don’t – why do I have to come in the first place?”

 

“You’re a baby,” Frank said. “It’s gonna be tough for the first few weeks. You’ll need someone around that’s been through it before. Normally, that’s your sire, _but_...” He trailed off, then turned back to his destruction of Gerard’s carefully-stored clothes. “Have you got any hiking boots?”

 

**

 

After half an hour, Frank seemed satisfied with his job of packing. He hoisted two backpacks onto his shoulders, then glanced at Gerard, who was hovering anxiously in the corner of the room.

 

“Relax,” he said. “This place will be here when you get back.”

 

 _If_ I get back, Gerard thought miserably, following him out into the hallway where Ray was waiting. He had an envelope in his hands.

 

“Rent for the next four months,” he explained. “Perks of having a saving account since saving accounts existed. We’ll drop it at your landlord. Then you don’t have to panic.”

 

Gerard didn’t want to say that was the least of his problems, because that sounded ungrateful, so he just nodded dumbly and followed Ray, down all three flights of stairs and outside. The light made him hiss slightly – it wasn’t painful, but rather uncomfortable, like little pinpricks over his bare skin. He huddled in his hoodie, and put the sunglasses he’d rescued from the bottom of his bedside drawers over his eyes, thinking he probably looked as little like as vampire as he felt.

 

There was a van parked in front of his building. It didn’t look particularly new, but it was in good condition, obviously well looked after. There was stickers all over the driver’s door. He glanced at one quickly. ‘VAMPIRES SUCK’ it declared in blood-red font. It was probably meant to be ironic, but it just made him feel even more uneasy.

 

“We tell people we’re a band,” Frank said as he settled into the back of the van. He stretched out across all three of the seats. “They don’t ask why we look like hobos then.”

 

Gerard glanced around, noticing that there seemed to be a distinct lack of instruments in order to back up this cover story, but he said nothing. There were, at least, several hammocks which had been haphazardly attached to the van’s ceiling, and it looked like they had everything you could possibly need on the road. Amongst the normal roadtrip debris, there were a few shiny-looking knives, a large crossbow with little symbols carved in the handle, and two samurai swords.

 

He tried not to look at those.

 

**

 

Gerard thought he should act like a stereotypical vampire, the kind of character he had read about in comic books and in terrible early horror films. But, Ray and Bob hardly acted like your typical undead. He was pretty certain that most common types of the undead brooded, smirked and definitely didn’t bicker over who got to sit shotgun this time.

 

Maybe, he considered, he could develop a strange pleasure in holding pointy things? He could pull off an umbrella sword. If it wasn’t too sharp, because he didn’t want to stab himself accidentally.

 

“What are you thinkin’?”

 

Frank was leaning over the back of Gerard’s seats. There were three rows of seats, and Gerard had carefully settled himself in the middle row, considering it the least dangerous of all three considering most attackers would go for the back or the front first.

 

He frowned at Frank for a moment, wondering what exactly made someone a slayer. Did they answer a job in the yellow pages, or was it more ceremonial than that? He bet there was a blood pact somewhere along the line.

 

“Nothing,” he lied.

 

“Hmm,” Frank said, looking unconvinced. “We should go somewhere nice after this trip. Do you like North Carolina? They’ve got cool parks there. And since we’ve last been there, their cannibal rate is like, _way_ down.”

 

“Cannibals?” Gerard squeaked.

 

“Oh yeah. There are a lot of Satanic cannibals in North Carolina,” Ray’s voice called from the driving seat.

 

Bob turned around in his seat to shoot Frank a look. “I hate to rain on your parade – ” (“Lies,” Frank whispered, which made Gerard laugh haltingly) “– but we’ve still got to track down whatever the fuck is slaughtering people around here before we can go on vacation.”

 

“ _Slaughtering_ people?” Gerard was pretty certain his voice shouldn’t go that high, but it did.

 

“Ooh yeah. We found a few out in the woods. They were all fucked-up like. Grisly, man.” Frank seemed strangely enthused about this subject. “The last few had, like, these symbols carved into their chests? Above their heart.” He bent down and dug around for a second, then triumphantly held up a piece of paper which had a child-like crayon rubbing on it.

 

Gerard’s eyes widened slightly as he realised the rubbing was of the symbols. They looked almost like English letters, only twisted somehow, like they could belong to some ancient, dead language. He ran a finger over them, intrigued and mildly terrified. “Dude, you fucking _rubbed a crayon_ over the weird potentially-Satanic symbols carved in dead people’s chests?”

 

Frank cocked his head to the side like a confused dog. “Yeah, why?”

 

 

“Kids, settle down. Our first stop is the library!” Ray called from the front.

 

The library seemed a little bit of a letdown after all the talk of murders and grisly chest carvings, but Ray seemed to know best, so Gerard just settled back in his seat. Frank was making a lot of noise behind him, clanking metal together, but he daren’t poke his head up again in case he took an accidental stake to the eye or something.

 

They pulled into a parking lot next to an old abandoned building which was definitely not the town’s library. Gerard looked out of the window, puzzled, but all three of his new companions were piling out of the van so he followed. Ray led the way over to one of the crumbling wooden doors and knocked twice.

 

“Who goes then?” grunted a voice from within.

 

“Friends,” answered Ray, without hesitation. “Black dahlia says hello.”

 

The door creaked open, and they stepped through. Instantly, Gerard’s thoughts on the building, which so far had been ‘ugly’ and ‘unsafe’ were transformed. Somehow, stepping over the boundary had transported them to a new world. The walls were draped in rich red fabric which looked like velvet, and it was lit in soft, flickering candlelight. The corridor itself seemed to twist as Gerard looked at it, and it made his eyes hurt.

 

He turned around, and came face-to-face with something which looked very, _very_ inhuman. Whilst it had all the normal features of an average person, where the eyes should be were only deep, dark hollows, like the skull has sunken in. Its lips, which were painted scarlet-red, stretched over a mouth of very sharp-looking teeth.

 

He startled slightly, but Frank grabbed his wrist tightly, squeezed it and whispered, “Be cool, man, she's a chill demon.”

 

“The fuck,” he said blandly, trying not to stare into the deep, bottomless pits where the person’s – no, demon’s eyes should be.

 

“Would you like to join our loyalty club?” The voice that emerged from the mouth of the demon, which had far too many teeth to make Gerard comfortable, was soft and lilting, completely at odds to its appearance. “Buy any nine magical books, and receive your tenth book free.”

 

“You know we don’t have any souls to barter with,” Frank said, rolling his eyes. “Stop it, Candy.”

 

“Candy?” That didn’t seem like a very demonic name to Gerard. Perhaps he didn’t know enough demons to have a good sample size though.

 

“Oh!” Frank shook his head, grinning. He motioned at the demon with his free hand. “Gerard, this is Candy. Candy, this is Gerard.”

 

“You would not be able to pronounce my true name,” Candy said. She smiled, soft and slow at Gerard, which almost helped with her terrifying appearance. Almost, but not quite. “Come on. Your comrades have already gone into the reading room. You should probably follow.”

 

“See you soon, Candy!” Frank called as he pulled Gerard with him, deeper into the strange maze-like corridors.


	3. “It’s never a lust demon.”

They found Ray and Bob in one of the library rooms, sat at an old table which was already groaning under books they’d apparently grabbed off the shelves nearby. They looked like they were concentrating intensely. Gerard glanced at one of the books, then frowned when he realised he couldn’t read a single word.

 

“Latin,” Frank said softly, almost in his ear. Gerard didn’t jump, but he did wonder how Frank had managed to sneak up on him considering Ray had mentioned he was meant to have enhanced hearing now.

 

Gerard pulled his gaze away from the books, and looked back at Frank. “Um, is there anything in English I could help with?”

 

“Sure. I think they have a kids’ section,” Frank said flatly. For a moment, he held his straight face, but then his mouth twitched and that was it. He broke into giggles, although Gerard wasn’t quite as amused. “I’m joking, man. We’re gonna go through the newspapers. See if anybody is reporting on the disappearances.”

 

“Disappearances, not murders?” Gerard questioned lightly.

 

“Do you think we’re fucking sloppy? Of course we cleaned up. We can’t have your average hiker stumbling on the brutally-mutilated body of his former English teacher. It would be bad for tourism.”

 

Frank led him over to a stack of newspapers. Most of the titles, Gerard recognised, but a few were alien to him. He tried not to focus on those, and picked up a neat stack and headed to a nearby seat, determined to get comfortable whilst he searched for clues about their town’s newest serial killer.

 

God, he needed a drink, or three.

 

**

 

After an hour, his eyes were blurry and his fingers were cramped from flipping pages, but then something caught his eye in one of the front-page articles and his breath stuttered in his throat.

 

“Uh, guys,” Gerard said, hesitantly. “Is that – the symbols?”

 

He pointed a finger at the newspaper article he’d found. It was dated from yesterday, and looked perfectly normal at first glance.

 

 

>   _MAYOR VISITS CHILDREN’S HOSPITAL_
> 
> _On Friday, Mayor Fitzpatrick visited Grey-Simmons Children’s Hospital. In recent months, the hospital has suffered a significant amount of setbacks, including a flood and a small fire. The mayor was there to offer his sympathy and also pass on donations the community has raised. He posed for this photo with several of the nurses._

 

 

But in the picture, above the mayor’s head, barely visible, were the symbols Frank had showed him earlier, a faint smudge of grey in the background that seemed to hover around his head. It was easy to miss unless you were looking for it.

 

“Cool,” whispered Frank, eyes bright, as he stared at the newspaper. “Look, there’s more there.”

 

He pointed at beneath the mayor’s feet, where another set of symbols seemed to be warped into the floorboards somehow. He grabbed a nearby piece of paper, and sketched them out, and then stood back and held them up to the light.

 

“I don’t know what these mean, but it’s another piece of the puzzle,” he said finally.

 

 

**

 

“The _mayor_ ,” Gerard repeated, just to get everything straight. “Jovial, meets cute sick kids, secretly a big-ass fucking demon from another dimension?”

 

“Looks like it,” Ray said with an easy shrug. “Probably only possessed, though. It would be harder to hide being an actual demon his whole political career.”

 

“I don’t know, man, have you seen most politicians?” Frank questioned lightly. “I think he’d fit right in.”

 

“Maybe. Especially Mayor Fitzpatrick. Known for his dodgy tax schemes prior to becoming mayor. A republican. Divorced twice, three kids by two women. He’s had an interesting life.” Ray was reading off his phone, a puzzled frown between his eyes. “Seems odd that he’d invite a demon in, though. Normally you have to summon one.”

 

Frank made a disgusted noise. “Okay, I can definitely handle an itty-bitty demon. But,” he paused, apparently for dramatic effect, “A _republican_?”

 

**

 

“So, what, we burst into the mayor’s officers and demand the demon show himself?” Gerard asked as they piled back into the van. He made sure to give Candy a small wave, because he wasn’t going to be species-ist, even if that species happened to be demons.

 

“Pretty much,” Bob said. “You any good with a sword?”

 

“I’ve never had to try,” Gerard said. “I used to play a lot of Mortal Kombat?”

 

Bob said nothing, but his mouth twitched slightly.

 

“Okay, so, you’ll stay at the back,” Ray said, apparently taking charge now. “Frank, do you still have those papers?”

 

“The ones from the Joint Chiefs of Staff? Sure do. I think they’re in here.” Frank’s head disappeared back behind the seats as he rifled through his bag. He chucked a few pieces of paper at Gerard’s head, who caught them more out of instinct than anything else. One was a takeaway menu from Dominos, the other was apparently a groceries list which included the items ‘BLEACH, ROPE (XTRA STRONG), DUCT TAPE’.

 

He emerged, triumphantly, clutching a few sheafs of crumpled paper, written on official-looking headed paper. “Here you go,” he said.

 

“Excellent. I think we have our way in.”

 

**

 

“Why is there _never_ parking? It's fucking Sunday,” Ray grumbled, hoisting his pack of necessary items onto his shoulder and picking up the strangely-carved crossbow. He still had the knife strapped to his calf, and now he attached a small holder of silver bolts to his hip. Gerard wondered what the police would say if they stopped him, but maybe even the police didn’t want to get involved in the crazy, heavily-armed group dressed in black.

 

Frank was rolling a stake between his hands, as if this was completely normal, but Gerard was giving him a wide berth just in case.

 

Bob had one of the swords strapped to his back. The other he was holding tightly.

 

Gerard twisted his hands together, feeling strangely naked.

 

It was getting dark now as dusk settled, and the coolness on his skin was a blessing after the weird pricking of the sun. Plus, now he could hear so much more. He could even sense little shifts in movement, like when Frank moved from one foot to the other, without seeing it. He shook his head a few times because there was so much going on in there, but it didn’t seem to help.

 

Bob dug into his pockets and emerged with a small vial of blue liquid. “Drink up,” he said, throwing it at Gerard.

 

He was still mildly surprised at how fast he was now as he caught it with little effort. He held it up gingerly, watching the liquid swirl inside, aquamarine with little beryl flakes, and then removed the stopper and took a hesitant sniff. It smelled like mud and saltwater. “Why?” he asked.

 

“It’ll help your bloodlust,” Bob explained. “Just in case. Hold your nose.”

 

Gerard didn’t think that sounded very good, but he pinched his nose and tipped the weird liquid back into his mouth, and forced himself to swallow. It tasted like dirty water. He almost spat it back out again.

 

Bob was laughing at him, the little shit, so he threw the empty bottle back at him. Unfortunately, he easily caught it, even still laughing, and tucked it back in his pockets. “Let’s go,” he said.

 

They walked the last few minutes to the town hall in stony silence. Gerard bristled at the idea that earlier today he’d been so happy and safe in his comfy bed. Now he was on some kind of suicide mission to track down a republican demon.

 

He hoped Mikey was having a nicer day than this.

 

They stepped over the threshold of the town hall, and immediately the security guard drew himself up, looking shit-scared but still holding out his baton as if this would stop the guys with swords. “What in hell’s name is this?”

 

“Relax. We’re just your local exterminators.” Ray waved a hand in front of the man’s face, and then snapped his fingers, and the man sunk back into his chair, a dreamy-expression in place, and pressed a button which released the locked door behind him.

 

“You said you couldn’t mind control people!” Gerard blurted as they piled through.

 

“I lied,” Ray said easily. “Besides, it’s more of a suggestion. It wouldn’t have worked if he wasn’t so open to it. He was just too scared to believe we were real.”

 

They headed for the lifts, and Bob smashed the button for the top floor. “Let’s see what we’ve got in store this time. I’m hoping for a lust demon, after last time.”

 

“It’s never a lust demon,” Frank said mournfully.

 

The lift doors opened on an opulent reception. The walls were mahogany panels, decorated by expensive looking artwork, and a chandelier swung from the ceiling, dripping with pearls. There was a large desk in front of them, and the woman in front of looked at them with wide-eyes.

 

Ray walked over and offered the papers Frank had found in the bottom of the van.

 

“Oh,” she said, pink lips parted slightly, perfectly-plucked eyebrows raised in surprise. She was very pretty, in a rigid, not-a-hair-out-of-place way. “I’ll let Mayor Fitzpatrick you’re here.”

 

She motioned for them to take a seat, but only Gerard complied. The others stood around, looking uncomfortable, whilst she pressed the button on her intercom and had a heated yet-whispered conversation. After a few moments, she straightened back up and said, “Go on through.”

 

**

 

The mayor was waiting, leaning on his desk, arms crossed and a less-than-pleased expression on his face. Frank immediately held out his stake and said, “We’re here to exorcise you.”

 

“The President sent me an exorcism squad?” the mayor said. He didn’t even look surprised. “Well, I’m afraid he’s messed up this time. I don’t need an exorcism.”

 

“You’re a demon,” Bob said, still holding his sword tightly.

 

“I’m not a demon,” the mayor said, shaking his head. “I think I’d know.” He straightened up, and Ray levelled his crossbow at him, but he made no move to go for them. Instead, he turned and went over to his nearby drinks cabinet. He picked up a glass and poured some expensive-looking liquid out of a crystal decanter and into his glass. He glanced at the four of them, then said, “Scotch, anyone?”

 

“Sounds exactly like what a demon would say,” Frank said, which was actually pretty true. He was still holding his stake out, as if this would make the situation any less ridiculous.

 

The mayor shook his head, taking a sip of his scotch, and sighed. “Look, man. I’ve had this shit before, we’ve had to cover it up. Strange killings in the woods? But I’m telling you now. I’m no demon. Sure, I’m not an angel, but y’know. People have to do shit to get to the top.”

 

“That’s what Lucifer did, and he _was_ a demon,” Frank replied. “Ray – make him show his true self! I’m bored of this game now.”

 

Ray held up both of his hands, fingers spread wide, and called out commandingly. _“Daemonium! Te rogamus, audi nos! Ostende te!”_

 

Gerard blinked.

 

The mayor stared back, an eyebrow raised slightly. “See?”

 

“Huh,” Frank said, looking contrite. “Guess you’re not a demon, after all.”

 

And then the screams began.


	4. “Zombie vampires. Zompires.”

The five of them burst out of the mayor’s office, and came face to face with a person’s lifeless face, expression slack and covered in blood.

 

The face, unfortunately, did not appear to be attached to a body anymore. It was hanging from a string of skin, looped over the chandelier in the reception they’d just come through. Gerard’s stomach turned slightly. The smell of the fresh blood made his fingers itch, but fear and the weird liquid he’d downed earlier was apparently making his hunger less apparent.

 

“Oh god,” the mayor said, a little less convincingly than he’d probably hoped. “Lisa! I only just got her trained properly.”

 

“She’s fucking dead,” Bob snapped. “A little more sympathy wouldn’t go amiss.”

 

“What did _this_?” Gerard asked, trying to avoid the face’s gaze. The mayor’s assistant had been a lot nicer to look at when she was still living. Her eyebrows didn’t look quite so perfect now.

 

Ray glanced between them and then said, “I guess, um, the revealing worked. Just on the demon hiding in someone else.”

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Frank said. “We need to get it before it defaces anybody else.”

 

Gerard was pretty sure that the word for removing somebody’s face and hanging it from a chandelier was not ‘deface’, but he didn’t think this was the right time to mention it.

 

Ray nodded as he double-checked the bolt he’d already loaded into his crossbow, and Bob pointed a finger at the mayor. “We shouldn’t split up. Fitzpatrick, you stay with us. It’ll be safer than being alone.”

 

The mayor nodded, face ashen. “Uh, it’s – Conall, if you want.”

 

“I’d rather stay with Fitzpatrick,” Bob said, completely blank-faced.

 

**

 

They swept the corridors as a team, thankful that it was a Sunday and nobody else appeared to be putting in overtime, although the mayor and Gerard hung back, uneasily glancing around their persons as if the demon might slide out of the wallpaper unexpectedly.

 

Actually, for all Gerard knew, that’s what they liked to do.

 

He had his fingers curled tightly into fists, which wasn’t particularly comfortable, but at least he was ready with a solid right hook if necessary. Bob and Ray were leading the way, weapons readied, and Frank was bouncing slightly, looking for all the world like a young child rather than a slayer after an escaped demon.

 

They rounded a corner of the empty offices, and the temperature dropped dramatically. It felt a bit like Gerard had stepped into ice-cold water. He shook himself, eyes wide, and looked at Frank, who had frozen perfectly still.

 

“Don’t move,” he muttered out the corner of his mouth. Then he immediately bounded forward, and yelled, “Hey, Mr. Demon. We’ve not got all night. Some of us have places to be. So, if you could come out now, that would be appreciated.”

 

“It’s miss, actually,” a voice, like nails down a chalkboard, said from the rafters. They all looked up. The rest of the mayor’s late assistant was hanging there. Clutching the body in her claws was a twisted, repugnant creature, with an angular face, slitted nostrils, and cruel eyes. Across her chest were gaping wounds which seem to burn somehow. Her serrated tail was flicking lazily side to side, and two large wings were furled tightly around her body.

 

“Holy shit,” Gerard said, eyes wide. He was not quite sure he’d believed there was a demon on the loose until this very point, where he was staring up at one and she was staring calmly back.

 

Behind him, he heard a squeak and he turned in time to see the mayor running back around the corner. Gerard couldn’t blame him – he was half tempted to do the same. Everybody else seemed to know exactly what to do. Both Bob and Frank raised their weapons, and Ray took up a stance underneath her, and in voice that barely shook, he yelled, _“Nunquam draco sit mihi dux!”_

 

She slid down to the floor in one fluid motion, her tattered wings with their visible bones and membranes fluttering behind her body, and stood, watching them for a moment with her head cocked to the side. She looked like she was appraising them all.

 

“ _Vade retro Satana!”_

 

An obscene screech exploded from her mouth with a deafening intensity. She hissed, baring sharpened teeth, and threw a hand out. Ray went flying into the wall with a sickening crunch.

 

Gerard flinched and he saw Bob glance at him quickly, looking horrified, before he pulled himself up and yelled, _“Nunquam suade mihi vana!”_

 

The demon turned her attentions on the rest of them. Behind him, Gerard heard somebody say, “Oh god,” very quietly, and he thought of the mayor hiding around the corner. Frank made a sneering face which would have been hilarious if he wasn’t also holding a stake.

 

“That’s the best you’ve got, darling? We all know if you had the power to do that to all of us you’d have done that by now. So I think we interrupted your little power gamble. Too soon, huh?” He stared down the demon, whose slitted nostrils were somehow flaring now.

 

“Enough,” she snarled, raising a hand.

 

Nothing happened.

 

“See?” Frank taunted, as he leapt at her with his stake. “What a disappointment.”

 

She let out a laugh which felt like dead things in the water. It sunk into Gerard’s very core as she swiped the stake easily out of Frank’s hand. Her tail snapped forward, like an angry snake, and smacked into Frank’s side. He went reeling, gasping for air, and then her clawed hand curled around Frank’s neck, pressing so tightly his skin turned white, and Gerard saw his breath stutter in his throat.

 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Gerard said without meaning to. He could just feel something burning inside his guts, spreading through his veins like fire. A deep, untold rage, rearing its ugly head. His head felt like it was about to explode.

 

“Don’t,” Bob said. His voice was steady as he continued Ray’s unfinished chant, _“Sunt mala quae libas!”_

 

Without thinking, Gerard threw himself forward.

 

Bob’s voice took on a frantic edge, tripping over the strange words. _“Ipse venena bibas! Vade retro Satana!”_

 

Gerard smacked into the demon and sent her rolling. Her grip slipped on Frank, and she fell heavily to the floor, screaming and then – instinct taking over – he tore into her soft, ruined flesh with his fingers and his fangs, screeching something he didn’t even understand himself.

 

Eventually, after minutes or hours or decades, he heard a voice saying, “It’s okay, it’s okay.” It was soft, hypnotic, and it soothed his anger, his fear. He rocked backwards, eyes rolling backwards with himself, and somebody caught him just before he hit the floor.

 

After a moment, he felt the rest of that unearthly rage rush out of him, and he struggled out of the person’s arms and to his feet. The demon had disappeared, and nothing was left where she’d been except dark red stains which looked like wine.

 

He turned around to look at the slightly-ashen faces of his new teammates, wiping blood off his mouth and chin with the back of his hand and the soaked sleeve of his hoodie. The demon’s blood tasted like metal, and made his lips numb.

 

“Dude,” said Frank, looking impressed. With one hand, he was gently rubbing his throat, where angry red marks in the shape of clawed fingers had appeared like burns. With the other, he was holding Ray up. “I’ve never seen a fledgling go full rage mode before.”

 

“What?” Gerard said. His head felt like it was full of cotton balls. He swayed slightly, and felt a strong arm wrap around his waist, just in time. He fell sideways, but Bob was there to catch his weight.

 

Then there was only darkness.

 

**

 

“ _I mean… full rage… yeah..._ _Lou Ferrigno_ _… so cool.”_

 

Gerard’s head was swimming. He made a low groaning noise in the back of his throat, and immediately somebody was there, pressing something cool to his forehead and muttering, “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

 

He felt somebody push something into his mouth, and realised after a second it was a straw. Without thinking, he began to suck hungrily on it, and he was rewarded when the sweet burst of blood filled his mouth. It still felt weird to drink it, but it was like his mouth was on automatic. He couldn’t fight it.

 

“Hey, can you sit up?” a voice asked. Frank’s, Gerard realised belatedly.

 

“Mhm. Don’t wanna,” he mumbled around the straw.

 

“Or at least open your eyes? I’m not that ugly.”

 

Gerard cracked his eyes open a tiny amount, and Frank’s concerned face waved into view. He was crouched over him, holding onto the blood packet and smiling. Gerard realised they must be back in the van, because it was dark and warm and everything looked very cramped.

 

“You fucking scared us back there,” Frank said lightly. “You tore that demon up pretty badly.”

 

Gerard pushed the straw away from his mouth after a few more gulps. “Is she dead?” he asked, softly, slightly scared to use his voice.

 

“Demons don’t really – _die,_ in a traditional sense. This incarnation is gone, until someone else fucks up and summons her,” Frank answered, looking slightly apologetic. “Maybe Lisa thought the creepy little chant she found in the corner of a secondhand book was only a charm for beauty.”

 

“When will they ever learn,” Bob yelled from somewhere further away. “The secret to eternal beauty is a good skin care regime.”

 

“Hmm, well. I don’t think even a skin care regime could save her now.”

 

Gerard thought of her peeled off face. His stomach was in twists, and his bones felt like jelly. His eyes were half-way closed already as he mumbled, “If the apocalypse comes unexpectedly, wake me up or something.”

 

And then he fell, relieved, back into unconsciousness.

 

**

 

“So, North Carolina,” Frank said when he woke again. Gerard realised he was wrapped in a few blankets, and curled up on the back seats. Frank was sat in the corner, leant against the door, with Gerard’s feet in his lap, and watching him carefully.

 

Gerard squinted at him, confused for a moment, before he recalled their conversation about satanic cannibals and nice parks. A quick glance down at himself and he realised he was no longer covered in blood, which was nice, but it also meant somebody had changed his clothes whilst he was unconscious and that wasn’t exactly his idea of a party.

 

“That’s like an eight hour drive, Frank,” Ray said patiently from the front. “Besides, we got a message.”

 

“Again? Jesus, it’s like they think we don’t have _lives_ or anything.”

 

“Uh,” said Gerard, as he finally pulled himself upright. It took more effort than he’d care to admit. He laid his head against the van’s window, enjoying the coolness pressed against his skin. “Three-quarters of us are dead.”

 

“Okay, point. But we do have other things to do other than save people. I have hobbies!”

 

“Creating new weapons out of old weapons and rope is not a hobby,” Ray said patiently. “At most, it is a dangerous obsession.”

 

Gerard ignored their bickering for a moment, because he was still a little bit hung-up on the fact they’d just defeated a demon and seen a dead body without a face. He frowned slightly, focusing on one of the swords which had been left in the corner of the van. “What happened to the mayor? How is he going to explain this?”

 

He couldn’t see Ray, but he heard him twist around in his seat, the soft rustle of clothing. “We called in a few favours,” he said. “And the mayor will keep his mouth shut if he wants to keep his position in power. Which they always do.”

 

Gerard felt a bit sick at the idea that there was some grand conspiracy by those in power to cover up supernatural happenings. How many times had this happened? How many people had died? He couldn’t even wrap his mind around the concept. He shook his head, mouth twisting miserably, “I don’t think that’s – like, nobody got justice, you know? Lisa deserved justice. Those _people_ deserved justice.”

 

“Lisa brought this on herself,” Frank said flatly. He leaned forward slightly, and put his hand on Gerard’s knee, eyes dark and intense. “But as for the people, they will have burials, and mourners and they will be remembered. It’s the best we can do. But as long as we keep doing what we do, less people will die. And that’s important. That’s _why_ we do this.”

 

Gerard made a small noise. “It’s not _fair_.”

 

“Life isn’t, death isn’t, even fucking being undead isn’t,” Bob said. Gerard’s eyes snapped to him. He was holding a phone, and frowning at it. “Reports of a _vetala_ from Pete. He says its been spotted in the pines, about twenty miles east of here.”

 

“Duty calls!” Frank said, as he petted Gerard’s knee absent-mindedly.

 

**

 

“What is a _vetala_?” The alien word felt heavy on his tongue. He thought he had a general knowledge of most supernatural creatures from the comic books he’d devoured as a teenager, but apparently not. And nobody had bothered to explain it yet.

 

They had parked the van on a dirt road which was unlikely to have much traffic down it, and now they were on foot. Ray was carrying a backpack and holding a compass, frowning down at it. He only glanced up briefly at Gerard to answer. “It's Sanskrit. Sometimes it's translated as vampire or zombie, but that's not really entirely accurate. It's like a hybrid of both. A walking corpse with a bloodlust.”

 

“Zombie vampires,” Frank said gleefully from in front of him. “ _Zompires_.”

 

“Why did we even invite that little shit along?” Bob said, glancing sideways at Frank, who was skipping merrily, swinging a rapier back and forth.

 

“I’m like the glue that holds this crew together,” Frank said, raising his rapier and pointing it at Bob. Bob made an angry noise and swiped at him, and Frank danced backwards.

 

Gerard was still hung up on the concept of zombie vampires, though. “If it’s Hindu, what the fuck is it doing over _here_? And how are we meant to know it when we see it?”

 

Bob smiled grimly. “I don’t think the supernatural needs passports. They have a habit of popping up everywhere. There’s one _vetala_ , Deicida, who was called the queen of the vampires, and she controlled beasts of fur and tooth. She was the consort of Belial, the lord of death. He's said to have three faces and eight legs.”

 

“Seems a bit greedy,” Frank said mildly. “I could do with an extra leg if he wasn’t hoarding them all.”

 

Ray had stopped in front of them. Gerard glanced curiously at him as he leaned down, looking closely at something. There was a pile of leaves in front of him which at first glance had seemed to fit in perfectly, but Gerard quickly realised they were neatly piled up, as if they’d been placed there on purpose. Ray straightened up and nudged the leaves with the toe of his boot. Something smelled off, but Gerard couldn’t find the source.

 

“Look,” Ray said quietly.

 

Bob shifted closer, and made a low noise. “Meat.”

 

“Takeaway?” Frank said lightly. “I guess our _velata_ has been here a while.”

 

They walked for a few more minutes deeper into the woods, and every so often, they found these odd piles of leaves which hid meat. Most of it was fresh, but it didn’t look very appetising. Some of it was half-rotten already. As they walked further, the meat looked like it had been torn apart as if by a ferocious animal, leaving entrails and gristle strewn across their path.

 

“Somebody needs to learn table manners,” Frank said, when they found the next pile. It was spread in a jagged circle, staining the ground underneath red with blood. This one hadn’t even been covered up by anything, as if the person who had been doing so hadn’t expected anyone to come in so far.

 

“Quiet. I need to focus,” Ray called. He had stopped walking, and he’d put his compass away now and dug something else out of his bag. They looked a bit like a plain metal sticks, bent at the end into an L-shape. Very unmagical sticks.

 

“What’s that?” Gerard asked Frank in a whisper.

 

“Dowsing rods,” Frank replied. “Think of it like a magical metal detector. For evil things. They don’t sell them in Target.”

 

Ray’s hands were still, but the rods were twitching in his grip anyway. Gerard watched, fascinated, as he spun on his heels and then said, “This way.” Bob and Frank both fell in behind him, apparently trusting his judgement and his magical sticks, and Gerard only hesitated for a second before following.

 

They set a brutal pace, and Gerard’s limbs were still heavy from his over-exertion earlier. He fell a few feet back, and then a few more. “Guys, wait,” he called, but they were already turning around a corner. He sped up slightly, but then he froze.

 

There was a woman stood in front of him, watching him carefully. Her lips were parted slightly, and her skin seemed to shine moon-bright. She looked so beautiful that for a moment he couldn’t even think.

 

But then he realised he had no clue where she’d come from.

 

She let out an unnatural shriek which made him cower, and flew at him. Her mouth, once pretty and scarlet-red, split open like the mandibles of an ant. Within in seconds, she was at his throat, her nostrils flaring as she drunk in his scent, and –

 

“Aw, _hell_ no,” he heard a voice snap. “Hands off, lady!”

 

The creature was ripped away from him and thrown into the packed dirt floor with a dreadful hollow thud which shuddered right through his bones. Her snake-like eyes were narrowed, piercing blue, and staring up at Frank, who had pulled a silver knife on her.

 

Frank grinned at Gerard quickly. “Never fear, damsel, I’m your slayer in shining armour.”

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Gerard said, eyes trained on the _vetala_ , waiting for it to make a sudden movement. He was surprised he had any adrenaline left after last time, but it was now pounding through his body again. “Fucking hell, man, this is not the time.”

 

The _vetala_ skittered backwards on all fours, inhumanly fast, and Frank leapt after it. They both disappeared into the trees, lost in the darkness. Gerard tried to figure out where they had gone, but all he could hear was leaves and twigs and branches breaking underfoot.

 

Ray and Bob appeared then at the head of the path, wide-eyed. “Where’d it go?” Ray demanded, dowsing rods all but forgotten now.

 

“Uh, that way,” Gerard said, pointing at the trees as another loud crash sounded. “It sounds pretty stealthy but I think you can find it.”

 

Bob snorted slightly as he vaulted into the trees. Ray quickly followed.

 

They emerged a few minutes later, Frank in tow, looking a little worse for wear. There were leaves stuck in his hair, and smears of dirt on his face. Long scratches littered his arms, and Bob immediately took a hold of Gerard’s wrist, as if not trusting him to control himself around fresh blood.

 

To be fair, his stomach was rumbling awfully loudly. Frank gave him a look, a little smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

 

“Where is it?” Gerard demanded, looking fearfully around.

 

“Escaped,” Frank admitted. “I had it pinned down and then these two decided to come crash the party and she got away.”

 

Ray looked exasperated. “Pinned down? She was two seconds away from ripping your throat open, and if you hadn’t noticed, your throat is relatively important.”

 

“I had it under control. _You_ fucked it up.”

 

Bob shook his head. “We had a phrase for guys like you in the seventeenth century. _Drama queens_.” He glanced around the clearing again, then said, “We should get back to the van. She could still be around here, and the longer we stand in her territory, the easier victims we’ll be. Come on.”

 

**

 

“She didn’t look like a vampire,” Gerard said, when they were settled in the van. He had two of the blankets tucked tightly around himself, as if they would work as a barrier of all the evil shit that was apparently lurking outside the van. He eyed the branches that were waving in the wind through the van windows. They looked like claws, reading to tear someone asunder.

 

“Not all do,” Bob said. They were all huddled in the back, where they apparently slept. It was warm and dark there, and it felt strangely safe with them together. “Sometimes they can keep up facades for far longer than that. She was hungry.”

 

“The meat,” Gerard said, suddenly realising. “Somebody was feeding her?”

 

“Maybe. Feeding is one word for it. But that’s never enough to satisfy a _vetala_. I think there’s something else underfoot here.” He shifted, looking uncomfortable for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry you’ve got tangled in all of this. It’s not – we wouldn’t normally bring someone like you along.”

 

“Because I’m useless?” he asked bitterly.

 

“Because you’re _vulnerable_ ,” Ray said softly. “Newbies can be – volatile. But if your sire ran, it’s likely he was young himself.”

 

Frank sneered slightly. He was tapping out a rhythm on his knee through the rips in his jeans. Bob had carefully bandaged up his arms after smearing something oily and black on the wounds, and Gerard thought he looked a bit like a budget mummy. “We don’t normally get incidents this close together,” he said softly. “A siring, a demonic possession and a zompire?”

 

“We’re not calling it her zompire,” Ray said flatly. “I don’t think it’s too out of the ordinary, but – we’ll have to check with Pete. See if anything else has been flagged up. For now, we should eat and sleep. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

 

He sighed, stood up, and took a small vial out of his bag and began daubing symbols on the van’s doors. They were bright red and they made Gerard uneasy if he looked at them too long.

 

Bob threw him a blood packet, and he tore into it, glad of the distraction. He didn’t even shudder too much at the thought now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering what the title means, it's Latin for 'the dead do not bite'. Vampire humour.


	5. “You’re dead. Try again.”

He was woken in the morning by a hand on his shoulder and a cheerful voice calling, “Morning, sunshine!”

 

He growled under his breath and swatted ineffectually at the voice, but only found empty air. He’d expected his body to hurt and ache like it normally did when he’d slept in somewhere weird, curled up tightly on himself, but he was pleasantly surprised when he stretched out and his joints only clicked slightly.

 

He cracked his eyes open and realised they were already on the road to somewhere. “’ere we goin’?” he mumbled through half a yawn.

 

“Headquarters, Sleeping Beauty,” Frank said brightly. He was sat on one of the hammocks, carefully unwrapping his bandages. Gerard was only mildly surprised to see that his wounds had already healed up most of the way, leaving only livid red marks against his tanned skin. It was only then that he noticed there were tattoos curled around Frank’s arms, but most of them had been slashed through by scars now. He saw Gerard looking, and offered him a grin. “I didn’t consider the hazards of my chosen occupation when I started my sleeves.”

 

“It’s kind of cool. Artistic,” Gerard offered. He almost wanted to sketch it down. It was like a metaphor for the dangers of beauty, or something.

 

“Hmm. Try telling that to my tattoo artist,” Frank said. He took the discarded bandages and threw them carelessly behind him. “We’re about five minutes out. Have a snack. Pete doesn’t do well with hungry vamps. He likes to lock them up and poke them.”

 

Gerard wasn’t sure if he was joking, but he did as he was told, sipping carefully from one of the packets that had been left near him in the night.

 

**

 

They parked the van behind an abandoned warehouse, or what he hoped was an abandoned warehouse, anyway, because it even looked creepy in the light of day. He’d hate to see it in the night.

 

The three of his new companions seemed to know exactly what they were doing, which was only slightly unnerving. They led the way across the parking lot, around one of the buildings, and down a dark, deserted alleyway. There was a small flickering light at the end, which illuminated a dark red door. It looked incongruous in the rundown alleyway, all shiny new paint. There was a small pinpad next to the door, which Gerard thought was rather ineffectual security against the undead.

 

That was, at least, until he was ushered through the door and he realised it wasn’t made of wood like he’d first thought. It was at least five inches thick, and probably made of solid steel. He followed the others down the spiralling staircase the door had revealed. Frank was skipping steps, leaping joyfully from one to the other. At the bottom, he swung himself off the third-to-last step and landed nimbly on his feet like a cat.

 

Gerard was surprised he wasn’t out of breath by time they got to the bottom, considering he’d normally struggled to manage the staircase up to his apartment, but then he remembered, oh, yeah, vampire, that probably helped. Did the dead get out of breath? So far, he hadn’t noticed the familiar burn in his lungs. He was still breathing in-and-out, but maybe that was more of an instinct than an actual necessity.

 

He wondered if vampires needed to breath at all, and if they didn’t, why didn’t they just live underwater? Maybe they did. That’s what the world needed to be afraid of. Not nuclear war, or climate change, but superpowered _scuba vampires._

 

That, and big ass fucking demons, which apparently were way more common than he’d previously thought.

 

Ray was punching in another code for yet another door. There was a hiss as this one swung open, and revealed –

 

 _Oh_ , it was slightly disappointing, Gerard thought. He’d kind of half been expecting something out of a horror movie. Blood splashed up the walls, angry supernatural creatures locked up in cages, screaming for human flesh, maybe a few heads on spikes, and weapons hanging on the walls.

 

Instead of death and blood and hellfire, he walked into a rather cosy-looking room. It was rather dim, lit only by a few scattered camping lanterns and a single naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, but somebody had obviously made an attempt to make it slightly more homely. There was a rug thrown on the floor carelessly, and patterned throw pillows decorated the oversized sofa that had been pushed into the corner.

 

At least the walls were made of concrete. On them hung maps and pictures, all connected by strings and post-it notes like something out of the lair of a serial killer.

 

“Home sweet home,” Frank said, immediately throwing himself onto the sofa. He kicked off his shoes and stretched his arms above his head, which revealed more destroyed tattoos on his stomach and hips. “It’s not got much of a view, but it does have a certain Batcave air to it.”

 

“Get your dirty feet off my sofa, runt,” said a new voice.

 

Gerard only jumped slightly, surprised once more he hadn’t heard this person coming. He was leant in the doorway open across the room, arms folded.

 

Calling Frank a runt was a bit rich, really, considering this man looked like he was barely taller. He had similar tattoos curling up around his arms, and short, spiky hair he’d obviously carefully styled in the morning, and he was giving Frank an amused look.

 

“Fuck off, Brian,” Frank said, digging his toes into the sofa and giving him a hard look back. “I almost _died_ today. You have to be nice to me.”

 

“You almost die everyday,” Brian replied. “It’s exhausting. I can barely keep up with all your near-death experiences.” He turned away from then and pointed a finger at Gerard. “So, is this our new recruit?”

 

“Kind of?” offered Ray.

 

Brian gave Gerard an appraising look. “Can you shoot a gun?”

 

“I, uh. Don’t really believe in guns.”

 

“Any experience in hand-to-hand combat?”

 

“No.”

 

“Medical training? Herbal remedies? Driving skills? Survival training?” Brian’s voice seemed to get slightly more strained with every shake of Gerard’s head. “Well, what _can_ you do?”

 

Gerard made a small face, shifting uncomfortably between his feet. “I can make omelettes and apparently I’m dead, so.”

 

Frank made an angry noise from the sofa. “Leave him alone, Brian, he totally saved my life the other day. He went full on Hannibal on this demon. Ripped her apart with his teeth. It was super cool.”

 

“Excellent. You brought me budget Hannibal.” Brian sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in a way which made Gerard think this was a common thing he ended up doing out of frustration. “We need to have a debrief. You guys better get your story straight. I’ve been on the phone to people all morning cleaning up some of your mess. Can’t you try to be a bit more subtle?”

 

“Not when there’s face-ripping demons afoot,” Bob said, giving Brian a hard look. “Where’s Pete?”

 

“He’s with Patrick, figuring out what the fuck is going on. They’re in the briefing room.”

 

“Lead the way.”

 

**

 

The briefing room looked a bit more like it belonged to a group of supernatural hunters. There was a long table which was covered in maps, printed papers and folders of varying thicknesses and age. In one of the seats furthest from the door, a man with dark hair was sprawled, flicking lazily through one of the folders. He glanced up when they shuffled into the room.

 

“Did you bring me a present?” he asked, sweeping his gaze up and down Gerard which made him suddenly very uncomfortable. Something about the man was entirely off, and it sent a cold shiver through him. “It’s not even my _birthday_.”

 

“Shut up, Pete, this one’s ours,” Frank said, throwing an arm around Gerard’s shoulders. Noticing Gerard’s wide-eyed look, he added, “We’re pretty sure Pete’s half _lidérc_ , so he’ll creep you out a bit. You get used to it.”

 

“You’re just sorry you’re not interesting like me,” Pete said, leaning forward. He had very dark eyes which seemed to be able to focus on multiple things at once.

 

“I’m sorry I’m not half-chicken,” Frank muttered, rolling his eyes. He flopped down in one of the chairs and said, “Where’s Patrick?”

 

“Probably dead under a pile of folders,” Pete said. “I sent him to get a few more half an hour ago. That, or he’s finally snapped and run away. It would be _such_ a shame. I would miss his company.”

 

“No fucking in the briefing room,” Brian said. “Or elsewhere, for that matter.”

 

“You always spoil my fun.” Pete huffed a laugh out, and then turned to Ray, who’d picked up one of the folders nearer him and was flipping through it. “That’s from last week. Black dog, spotted in one of the ancient cemeteries. We dealt with it.”

 

“We found your _vetala_ ,” Bob said, as he took the seat next to Frank. “She wasn’t a happy bunny.”

 

Pete put the folder he was holding down and steepled his fingers together. “Tell me everything.”

 

**

 

They talked for what felt like hours. Gerard found it hard to focus on anything which was going on, because there was a lot of unknown words and strange references being thrown around. A some point, a guy who was apparently Patrick appeared in the doorway, holding even more folders and books which he dumped unceremoniously on the table. Some of the books looked like they were hundreds of years old, which probably wasn’t far from the truth. He only managed to see half of one’s title (‘ _CLAVICULA SALOMONIS…’_ ) before Pete was flipping it open and muttering something about needing a better filing system.

 

Frank seemed to lose interest halfway through, taking one of the papers nearby and folding it into an intricate paper crane.

 

Eventually, Brian dismissed them both, and Frank leapt up, taking Gerard’s hand in his and dragged him bodily out of the room without a backward glance. They left Bob, Ray. Brian, Patrick and Pete in deep conversation.

 

When they were back in the first room, Frank rounded on him and said, “Do you really not know any combat techniques?”

 

“It didn’t really come up in art school,” Gerard snapped, slightly annoyed at the look Frank was giving him.

 

“Okay,” Frank said, finally. “Hit me.”

 

“What?”

 

“Hit me. As hard as you can. I want to see what you can do.”

 

“No. I’ll hurt you.”

 

“ _Please_ ,” Frank said, in a tone of voice which showed exactly how ridiculous he found this notion. Baited, Gerard glared at him, and then he clenched his fist and threw a punch as hard as he could straight into Frank’s face.

 

“Ow, you motherfucker,” Frank cried, throwing a hand up to his eye and recoiling. Gerard immediately felt horrible, and he crowded forward, apologies already spilling out of his mouth.

 

The next thing he knew, Frank’s free hand had snaked around his arm, yanked it forwards, and flipped him over his hip. Gerard hit the ground with a thud, his head smacking violently in the floor, and stars danced in his eyes.

 

He groaned, long and slow, as he tried to figure out exactly what had just happened.

 

Frank planted his foot on Gerard’s chest and said, “You’re dead. Try again.” He grinned down at him, hair falling around his face.

 

Gerard narrowed his eyes. “You fucking asshole.”

 

**

 

Gerard spent an awful lot of time over the next hour on his back on the floor, as Frank gleefully found new ways of hurting him. He was pretty sure if he’d still been human, he’d have been a bruised mess by the second or third time he’d been thrown bodily against the nearest hard surface.

 

As it stood, he was getting more and more pissed off. This didn’t really seem to be the most student friendly way to teach him to fight. In fact, he was pretty sure all he’d learned so far was that Frank was an utter, _utter_ bastard.

 

“What the fuck is your problem,” he snapped, as Frank dug an elbow into his ribs and kicked his legs out from underneath him. He went down like a pile of bricks, clutching his ribs and groaning.

 

“You’re the one that is letting me,” Frank crowed, offering a hand to help him up.

 

Gerard eyed it warily, and then used a nearby table to lever himself back up instead. Something was pounding in the back of his head, and he wasn’t quite sure it was due to how many times he’d hit his head so far. In fact, it felt strangely familiar, like a feeling he’d had before but forgotten. He could feel his hands clenching involuntarily.

 

Frank danced back, eyeing him. Gerard grunted, dropped his chin to his chest, and bared his fangs. When Frank went for him again, he was ready. Everything seemed to slip into slow motion. For the first time, he saw Frank’s kick coming before it hit, and this time he manoeuvred himself so it missed. This threw Frank off-balance, and finally gave him the opportunity to repay him by grabbing his arm and using this to smash Frank into the floor. He dropped down on top of him, pressing a knee to his chest, and curling his hands around Frank’s upper arms.

 

He wanted to bite, to tear into soft flesh, but something, quiet but firm, in the back of his mind was telling him not to.

 

It all happened in less than a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity.

 

“Easy, tiger,” Frank said, finally, eyes wide. “Don’t go tearing my face off. I need that to look pretty.”

 

Gerard felt something snap inside of him, and he lurched backwards, releasing Frank. “What the fuck,” he said, touching his fingers to his mouth where he could still feel his fangs pressing into his bottom lip.

 

“I knew you had it in you really,” Frank said happily as he sat up, rubbing a hand across the back of his head and wincing sightly. “Jesus, remind me not to provoke vampire hulk again.”

 

“What was _that?_ ”

 

“Fight instinct,” Frank said. “Most of your kind has it, deep down. That’s what snapped in with the demon. Only you’ve got a stronger one than most fledglings. It’s almost impressive.”

 

“I don’t like it,” Gerard said. “I feel like – like I lose control. I could hurt someone.”

 

“That’s kind of the point.” Frank sighed, and reached out a hand and touched Gerard’s wrist. His hand was warm against his skin. “Let’s take a break. You look like death.” He laughed at his own joke as he clambered to his feet, and Gerard only shot him a dark look.

 

**

 

“So, how did you actually, you know,” Gerard said when they were curled up on the sofa, waving a hand to indicate Frank’s entire being.

 

“Become a slayer?” Frank replied, raising an eyebrow and looking mildly amused. He was cradling a cup of coffee, and Gerard was inhaling the scent and feeling mildly perturbed that he wasn’t craving it at all.

 

“I guess. I mean, it’s not exactly what most career counsellors suggest.”

 

“Family business. My dad was one. My grandfather was one. It was bound to happen one day.”

 

Gerard thought this was an awfully casual way to describe giving up your entire life to fight off big bad supernatural beings, but maybe Frank had been told in his childhood or something. He wondered if it was like in the movies, where the parent trained their kid slyly in all the skills he’d need to continue on the tradition. “Did you – like, did you have to agree? Like, was it a puberty thing, or did you turn eighteen and then suddenly, boom?”

 

Frank gave him a long look, as if evaluating him, or maybe thinking over his next answer, then said, “Death is the only way it passes on.”

 

And _oh_. Gerard cringed back, considering that maybe this wasn’t the most comfortable topic of conversation. “I’m sorry,” he said finally.

 

“It’s been six years. I’ll be okay.” Frank stared down at his coffee for a long moment though before he said, “How about you? Family?”

 

“I have a brother,” Gerard admitted in a small voice. He didn’t know why, but saying it out loud made it feel even worse. He didn’t know when he’d next see him – if he’d _ever_ see him again.

 

“Is he like you?”

 

“He’s stubborn. And he’s a mother hen. Always checking up on me.”

 

“So he’s your second mother?”

 

“I wouldn’t know. She left us.”

 

Now it was Frank’s turn to look apologetic, which was an expression that seemed almost alien on his face, as if he rarely adopted it. It was odd. He looked young, but with the scars on his arms and the look he got in his eyes sometimes, especially when he was fighting, Gerard thought that first impressions may lie.

 

“How old are you?” he asked, considering him.

 

“Twenty-five.”

 

That was surprising. Gerard frowned. “It doesn’t like – stop aging, right?”

 

“I’m not dead, darling. I’ll get old and grey one day. Maybe I’ll retire, become Obi Wan Kenobi for the new generation of slayers.” His tone was light and joking, but Gerard couldn’t help but think there probably wasn’t many grey-haired master slayers around these days. Frank leaned forward, placing his coffee on the floor and said, “You can stay pretty for the both of us, how’s that?”

 

Gerard hadn’t even considered that he wasn’t going to get any older. He wasn’t quite sure he could wrap his head around the concept. Would he just stay like this forever? He was sure there must be ancient vampires hiding in dark caves somewhere, who had seen everything. That made his stomach flip.

 

He shook his head, and tried to dismiss the thought. “We could start a tutoring club,” he said, smiling slightly at the idea. “Raise the new generation of hunters.”

 

Frank rolled his eyes. “Sure, after you learn to actually fight. That’ll be a start.”

 

“It’s not my fault! Normally at this point there’s some kind of action montage!”

 

**

 

The others emerged, looking grim-faced, a little while later. Brian was running his hands through his hair, muttering about needing a straight-jacket.

 

“What’s going on?” Frank asked.

 

Ray shook his head, but said, “Tomorrow, we’re going back the pines. Reports of some kind of creature stalking the area north of where we were. It’s not the _vetala_ , though. Witnesses said some kind of beast?”

 

Frank made a little noise of interest, then said, “Did you find any links with the other occurrences?”

 

“None so far. Patrick’s still working on it. He says there’s been a lot of activity around the rift.”

 

“The rift?” Gerard asked lightly, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

 

Frank grinned. “Yeah, this town was built on top of well of evil that attracts all types of fun things.”

 

Gerard thought this sounded rather stupid, although by this point he was barely surprised. “Did nobody raise an objection to that during the planning stages? Like, oh, this road layout is great, top job Chris, but maybe we shouldn't build on top of the evil glowing pit of doom?”

 

Ray huffed out a laugh. “It’s technically a dimensional rift, but I guess evil glowing pit of doom sums it up nicely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, people need to stop building towns on evil glowing pits of doom. It's bad for business.


	6. “A please and a thank you wouldn’t go amiss when you demand decapitation.”

“If it’s dangerous, make sure you cut off the head this time. And, for fuck’s sake, remember to bury the parts separately,” Brian said as they piled into the van the next morning. He was handing various new weapons to Ray, who was packing them in the back. There was even a flare gun, although Gerard wasn’t quite sure why they’d ever need a flare gun unless their next demon happened to be on the Titanic.

 

“Maybe I’m old-fashioned,” Bob said, poking his head out of the driver’s window, “but a please and a thank you wouldn’t go amiss when you demand decapitation.”

 

Brian scowled at him. “ _Please_ don’t fuck it up. Thank you.”

 

“Good enough for me.” Bob settled back in his seat, flicking through a newspaper he’d somehow acquired.

 

Frank was bouncing on his heels, gleeful once more. “I wonder if it’s a shapeshifter,” he said.

 

“They don’t exist,” Ray said, gently, as if explaining something to a moron. “And even the pack has moved north for now.”

 

Frank made a face. “Maybe it’s a werehuman? A wolf most of the time, but only human at the full moon?”

 

“Don’t start inventing new creatures,” Gerard said, tightening the blanket he’d draped around his shoulders. He was feeling cold and shaky today, as if he’d finally been hit by the corpse blues. About time. “There’s enough terrifying things out there as it is.”

 

Frank cocked his head to the side, and then clambered in next to Gerard in the back seats. He poked his side until Gerard shifted slightly to the side and allowed him to squish closer. “You’re not terrifying. You’re pretty cuddly, for a vampire.” He paused for a moment. “Maybe you might want to think about mixing up the black-on-black a little, though.”

 

Gerard was distracted by this criticism of his own fashion tastes when Pete came swanning out of the door, wearing what could only be described as cheap Halloween cloak, the sort you got in all the dollar stores as it approached Halloween. And yet, Gerard was pretty certain it was only June. He peered at him curiously out of the open door.

 

“There's nothing wrong with a man deciding to wear a cloak,” Pete said defensively, when everybody had turned their gazes on him.

 

Brian folded his arms. “There is if he's only doing it so he can dramatically sweep around like a low-budget horror villain.”

 

“I think you look dashing!” Frank called, perching on top of the seats so he could see out of the back of the van doors, and Pete gave him a wide grin.

 

“I know I do,” he said. “I only came out here to tell you guys our beast is on the move. He’s getting closer. Last report from Dahlia says only about ten miles out. Get a move on.”

 

“Yessir,” Ray said, as he carefully placed the last of the very sharp things Brian was handing him in the back, and jumped down from the van. He exchanged a few words with Brian, and then he was clambering into the passenger seat. He glanced behind him, at Frank who was now bending back over the seats and groping for something behind him, and at Gerard, miserably huddled in his blanket. “Seat belts on motherfuckers, I won’t have anybody going through my windscreen.”

 

**

 

On the drive there, Gerard considered the fact that he was technically missing work to chase after what either could be a dangerous rabid beast, another goddamn demon or a stray dog for all he knew. He wondered if his boss was going crazy wondering where he was. He kind of hoped he’d get fired just so he was known around the office as the one that just disappeared one day. After all, it wasn’t like he could turn up and say, ‘Sorry, got turned into a vampire and recruited into a supernatural hunting team, can I take the month off?’

 

His phone buzzed as he was considering this, and he glanced down to see he had a reply text from Mikey.

 

‘ _Where are you?? Worried. Look after yourself. I’m here when you want to talk.’_

 

Smiling slightly despite himself, he replied with _‘Don’t worry. Will explain everything soon. Love, G x’_

 

“You can’t tell him, you know that right?”

 

He startled slightly at Frank’s voice, and looked up to see Frank watching him with steady eyes.

 

“I have to. He’s my brother.”

 

“Do you think it’ll go down well? Hi, bro, sorry, I’m undead and I know you may have some preconceived notions about the undead, but don’t worry, we’re all cool really!” Frank raised his eyebrows slightly.

 

“I’m not just disappearing. I refuse to. I won’t tell him the truth if necessary.”

 

“That’ll make sense when he’s getting older and you’re still stuck as a twenty-something starving artist.”

 

“Shut up,” Gerard snapped, more angrily than he’d wanted to. He turned to look at Ray, slightly desperate. “You guys must have told your families, right?”

 

“My family died,” Ray said. “Spanish flu.”

 

Bob didn’t look away from the road, but he said, “Which one? I’ve had many.”

 

“I’m not changing my mind,” Gerard settled back into his seat and stared at his shoes, avoiding the look Frank was giving him.

 

“Hey, it’s your funeral,” Frank said. “Enjoy being sectioned.”

 

Gerard didn’t think his brother was the type of person who would react like that, but he also hadn’t ever claimed to be undead before, so he didn’t have much experience to go off of. It did make him think though – how did you tell if someone was a vampire if you didn’t get close enough to check their pulse? As far as he could tell, he looked relatively the same. It’s not like he could glance in a mirror.

 

He frowned for a moment, considering, then said, “How did you guys know?”

 

For a moment, an awful silence seemed to descend on everybody. Even Frank stopped fidgeting with the loose thread in his jeans.

 

“Uh,” Ray said, almost reluctantly. “Bob saw you.”

 

“Saw me?” Gerard repeated incredulously, thinking of the fact he’d woken up in his own bed, and had been nowhere near any windows. Also, he lived on the _third floor._

 

“Not like – physically saw,” Frank said. He tapped the side of his head. “He saw you.”

 

“He’s _psychic_?”

 

“I’m not a fucking psychic,” Bob said, a little too forcefully. It was apparent he’d had this conversation many times before. “I can just pick up things. New sirings. Whether the moon is in perfect alignment with Jupiter. If the McDonalds’ milkshake machine is broken.”

 

“It’s useful,” Ray added. “We found you. And you shouldn’t have been alone. Do you not remember what happened?”

 

Gerard frowned, trying to recall the night. He could only remember flashes, as if somebody had scrambled his memories. Going to the bar, having a drink, meeting somebody – somebody with red-gold hair, and a dangerous smile. Then waking up in bed, confused and suddenly dead. He told them this and watched as they all exchanged looks again.

 

“Memory loss isn’t a part of it,” Ray said, finally. “You should remember it.”

 

Frank seemed to agree. He lent forward, staring at Gerard, as if trying to figure something out. “It's not exactly an easy thing to mistakenly do. Are you sure you didn't partake in any, uh, extra-curricular blood sucking?”

 

“Pretty certain! I just – I woke up and my neck felt really hot? Like, it was burning. And I had no reflection! And then you guys decided to play fucking breaking and entering and here I am!”

 

“Your window was open,” Frank said defensively.

 

Gerard was interrupted from what was definitely going to be an amazing retort and not just ‘shut up’ again by Bob slamming on the brakes and sending his head flying into the back of his seat. He made a half-groaning noise in the back of his throat, even though it didn’t actually hurt.

 

Bob didn’t acknowledge this. “We’re here, guys. Get your shit together. You what what they say, teamwork makes the dreamwork.”

 

With only some grumbling, they all left the van. Gerard stood for a moment whilst Ray gathered their stuff, surveying their surroundings. It was all rather pretty if you ignored the population of potentially deadly supernatural creatures, which was higher than one and thus slightly objectionable. Cool, dark, surrounded by tall pine trees which made him feel like a dwarf. There was barely any sunlight through these trees, which was a blessing because his skin didn’t prickle oddly, and he could hear so much around him. The rustle of movement in the grass, the birds in the branches, the faraway sound of the road.

 

“What’s the plan?” he asked.

 

Ray and Bob exchanged a glance, and then Ray said, “We got hunting. Find what is out there.”

 

“Do we know what we’re looking for?”

 

“Not yet.”

 

“Is it dangerous?”

 

“Probably.”

 

“What do we do when we find it?”

 

“God knows.”

 

“It's good to know you've planned this out with amazing attention to detail.”


	7. “Would it kill you guys to mop up the blood you walked in here?”

Something was off.

 

He realised too late what it was. The woodland had gone ominously quiet. Hesitantly, Gerard held out a hand. Ray glanced at him, and then they paused, and once their footfalls were silent, all they could hear was the wind through the trees. Even that seemed wrong, somehow, as if it was whispering secrets.

 

Frank drew himself up, reaching around for whichever weapon he’d decided was his favourite today.

 

Gerard turned slightly, and that’s when he saw the woman watching them.

 

She had eyes like snowmelt. He felt like somebody had stabbed a fishhook into his heart and was slowly dragging him into a frozen lake. The look paralysed him, crawled under his muscles, but made his blood dance in his veins.

 

Then, as quickly as she’d appeared, she vanished.

 

He let out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding. Thank god that was over.

 

“Uh, _guys_ ,” he heard Frank say.

 

He turned slightly, stomach dropping.

 

An over-sized wolf stared at them from the bushes, it's body hunkered low to the ground. It snarled, low and dangerous, and Gerard’s first instinct was to yelp loudly, which probably wasn’t very helpful. Bob threw himself in front of Gerard, sword somehow in his hand now even though Gerard swore he hadn’t been holding it a moment before.

 

There was a moment where the wolf stared back, and then –

 

The wolf leapt, powerful legs launching it forward, and then there was the sound of two bodies colliding and snarls filled the air. Gerard watched as Bob threw the wolf a good few feet with practised ease, but the wolf came leaping back, mouth open and revealing jagged yellow teeth much bigger than any domestic dog he’d ever seen.

 

This time, Bob was ready. He threw up his sword in a guard position, and when the wolf got closer, he stepped nimbly backwards. The second time the wolf went for him, he twisted around and triumphantly slid his sword across the wolf’s chest, bringing up blood russet-orange like the liquid bromine from high school chemistry.

 

The wolf flew away, yelping.

 

A smog-like haze of thick dark vapour had descended where the women had been. It gave everything an ominous feeling, especially combined with the scent lingering in the air, of decay, somehow cold and heavy.

 

“Don’t mess with us, wolves! We're the Bloodsucking Brady Bunch!” Frank yelled happily, apparently ignoring this sinister change of scenery.

 

“You stole that from the Lost Boys.” Bob straightened up. He peered at the orange-toned blood for a moment, before wiping the bloody sword on the leg of his pants.

 

Frank took a few steps forward and threw an arm around Bob’s shoulders. “Bob, that heroism was very attractive. You want to make out for a bit, see how it feels?”

 

Bob made no move to return the affection. “Shut up, Frank.” He shoved Frank’s arm off his shoulders, and then pushed the man bodily away from him when he tried to slither closer again.

 

Frank didn’t look particularly offended by this. He nodded and grinned. “If I've learned anything from Buffy, it's that we're all gonna eventually make out with each other anyway.”

 

“Was that our beast?” Gerard asked, hesitantly, as he watched Ray crouch down and take a sample of the soil where the wolf had bled on it.

 

“Maybe. Didn’t seem particularly terrifying though,” Ray replied, looking up at Bob and frowning. “It’s almost like it wasn’t meant to be an attack. Why did that – thing disappear? Why only leave one wolf behind?”

 

“Like, it was an accident?” Gerard couldn’t let go of the feeling that he knew that women, the women with the snowmelt eyes, the one who made him want to throw himself into her control, like every fibre of his being was screaming to get closer.

 

He found it hard to think properly when he tried to recall her face. When he thought of her eyes and tried to picture them in his head, he felt a ripple of euphoria spread outwards over his entire body, every inch of his skin tingling and aching for more. It didn’t feel right, or good, but his whole mind for a moment lost control.

 

But when he finally cleared his head, curling his hands into fists and pressing his nails into his own skin, he realised something. The wolf had appeared _after_ she had, like it had been lured there by her presence.

 

He cleared his throat, hesitant, and then said, “Bob – you mentioned that famous _vetala_ , the one that controls beasts?”

 

Bob’s head snapped up at his name, and he frowned for a moment. “Deicida?” He looked slightly incredulous at this, glancing between Gerard and Ray for a moment. “That’s a myth. A children’s tale.”

 

“But what if it’s not? What if that’s _her_?”

 

“You think our _vetala_ is the legendary queen of the vampires?”

 

“Why is that so unbelievable?” Gerard asked hotly. “Vampires and zompires are cool, but mythological figures not so much?”

 

“We’re not calling them zompires,” he heard Ray mutter faintly under his breath.

 

“Okay,” Bob said finally, “but I draw the line at evil fish-zombie-vampires from myths.”

 

Frank made a small noise which somehow sounded contemplative. “I hate to be this person, but if the queen is about, does that mean her hubby, the lord of death is gonna follow? Because I didn’t bring my funeral pants.”

 

**

 

They walked for a few more minutes as the afternoon settled in dusk, keeping careful eyes out for anymore mystical beasts ready to pounce. As they rounded a corner, Bob froze. His eyes seemed to roll back somehow, twisting his features into something unnatural, and Ray was instantly there, touching his shoulder and whispering something under his breath.

 

It seemed to stretch on for ages.

 

Finally, with one shuddering breath, Bob relaxed. He turned immediately to Ray. “There’s another one. That way. It’s still fresh.”

 

Ray nodded solemnly, and immediately set off in the direction Bob had indicated.

 

“What’s going on?” Gerard asked as he hurried after them, but nobody stopped to include him in the pleasant psychic moment they were having, which only annoyed him a little bit.

 

He stopped dead when he realised the others had, and for good reason.

 

There was a man lying with his limbs askew on the ground. His throat had been ripped open, dark and broken like the work of teeth rather than a blade, and blood stained the dirt he was lying on.

 

Across his shirtless chest, somebody had carved more strange symbols.

 

Gerard couldn’t look at him directly. His throat felt like the sahara, and that blood looked awfully tempting.

 

“Uhm, shall we –” Ray made an abortive gesture towards the latest victim, and Bob nodded. He dug into the backpack he’d been carrying, and drew out an assortment of tubes and what looked like deflated plastic sacks. This he handed off to Ray, and they crouched near the body.

 

Gerard watched, slightly disgusted and slightly fascinated, as they slid a needle into his chest, near his heart. “What are – are you guys stealing his _blood_?”

 

“It’s not like he’s using it anymore,” Bob said with a slightly raised eyebrow.

 

He felt somebody touch his wrist and then Frank was there, leaning into his view, blocking the body from sight. “Look at me,” he said firmly, which was rather out of character. Gerard turned his horrified gaze to him, and Frank smiled. “It’s easier if you don’t focus on it.”

 

He put a hand on Gerard’s back.

 

“What are they going to do?” he asked as he allowed himself to be led away from the clearing.

 

“With our new friend? Burn him. Cover the tracks. Draw the symbols. Take a sample back to Brian.” Frank took hold of his wrists and turned to face him.

 

“Why don’t they just take a photograph?”

 

“We don’t know if that’ll make it more powerful, if we recreate the symbols in a photograph. Better to sketch it.”

 

“Who do you think is doing this?” Gerard asked, half-whispered, as if he was scared the forest would overhear.

 

Frank paused for a long moment. He had his back to the sun, and he was staring intently into Gerard’s eyes, and he looked almost ethereal in the half-light, haloed in the sun’s rays. “We’ll find out. Perhaps a new pack, or clan. Sometimes they do it as an initiation thing.”

 

“Because ripping someone's throat out is such a bonding experience?” Geratd’s mouth still felt intently dry, and he could still feel an intense hunger gnawing at his stomach. It took all his willpower not to throw himself back towards the body. He wondered if that ever got better – maybe, considering Ray and Bob didn’t seem half as effected.

 

Frank didn’t answer this. “Come on. I’ll take you back to the van.”

 

**

 

The returned to the headquarters that evening tired, covered in mud, dirt, leaves, and, in Bob’s case, strangely orange mystical animal blood and yet none-the-wiser.

 

Brian didn’t seem very pleased by their appearance, judging by the frown he’d adopted.

 

“Would it kill you guys to mop up the blood you walked in here?” Brian asked, as he fetched the mop and bucket from another room. For a few minutes, he chased Bob around with it, thwacking his shins until Bob rolled his eyes, kicked off his shoes and shed his bloodied jeans without hesitating.

 

“Here,” he said, throwing them at Brian. “Try and get the blood out, I only just bought these.”

 

“This place is a tip! Just once, just _once_ , I want one day to drag an unconscious body across the floor and not kick up a trail of dust,” Brian said, as he bundled the jeans up into an angry ball and went to throw them back at Bob’s head.

 

“Do you think most people clean during the apocalypse? It’s probably the bottom of Laurence Fishburne’s list.”

 

Brian sighed slightly, deflating. “I hate you all, why did I even let you guys join my evil-fighting gang?”

 

“My irresistible charm and delectable ass,” Pete said, as he appeared in the doorway with an armful of books. He wasn’t wearing his cape anymore, which was probably a blessing, but he equally looked a bit like an old-fashioned dandy out of a low budget romance movie, all ruffled shirt sleeves and ridiculously tight pants. “Why else?”

 

“What are those books for?” Gerard asked, slightly cautiously, because by this point he’d learned books did not bode well in this new alternative universe of freakish beasts out to eat his head.

 

Pete looked pleasantly surprised at being asked. Perhaps the others had learned not to by now. “Research!” He placed them carefully down on the table nearest the wall covered in pins and strings and photos. Gerard noticed for the first time that the strings were all bright red. It looked like a particularly haphazard spider’s web.

 

Pete seemed to notice him looking, because he beamed and waved a hand at it. “Patrick’s doing. He says we should keep track of all the supernatural creatures we encounter. The string colours mean different things. Green is safe, yellow is contained, red is dangerous.”

 

“There's only red on there?” Gerard asked. He was only slightly hesitant to point this out.

 

Pete waved his concern away with one ruffled sleeve. “Yes, well, we're working on it.” He pointed at a key which had been neatly written next to the maps, with little symbols equalling scary sounding monsters like _adlet, aigikampoi, akateko…_ “Patrick was an executive assistant in life, so I brought him in to be our executive assistant in death. He’s rather good, isn’t he? The way he files things is just sensual.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First person to guess the plot gets a, uhm, gold sticker!!!


	8. “They also speak Aramaic.”

“Where do we start?” Brian asked. He looked calm, or at least resigned, but his jaw was tight and he was frowning.

 

Pete’s collection of books for them to look over had grown significantly with a few extra trips into the deep, dark depths of the hideout’s archives, which Gerard was too scared to peak into for fear of facing a snapping book like in Harry Potter.

 

“Back to basics,” Ray said firmly. He left the room, and then returned a few minutes later, triumphantly carrying a thick pad of paper and a handful of brightly coloured pens. He ripped out pages of blank paper and stuck them to the table in some kind of order, then passed out the pens.

 

“Okay, so, Pete, you take locations, Brian, victims, Gerard, you do myths, Bob, you’re with me. We’re gonna handle motives.” He paused, then looked at Frank for a long moment, who was already using the pen he’d been handed to draw a moustache on his finger. “Frank, you go and make coffee or something.”

 

“Look who was top of his class in the boy scouts,” Pete said, as he wrote ‘LOCATIONS’ in big letters at the top of his page. His handwriting was strangely loopy, as if he'd been trained in penmanship.

 

Gerard gingerly picked up a nearby book and flipped randomly to a page. It was about locust swarms which whilst interesting wasn’t very relevant, and he hoped it never would be. The thought of all those wings and legs – he had to suppress a small shudder.

 

Sighing, he checked the book for an index, and he wasn’t even surprised when he came up blank.

 

It was going to be a long day.

 

**

 

“It doesn’t make sense,” Ray said crossly, as he stared down at his work. They’d been at it for at least two hours now. Gerard’s fingers were numb from flipping pages in useless books, and his vision was starting to go funny at the edges.

 

“Maybe it’s not meant to make sense?” Frank said as he took another sip of his coffee. He was sat on the table next to Gerard, because chairs were too mainstream, legs swinging merrily and kicking Gerard in the side every so often. The first time Gerard had jabbed an elbow into Frank’s ribs in response, but by this point he was too tired to even bother.

 

Ray paused, eyes wide for a moment. “Frank, that’s possibly the smartest thing you’ve ever said, and I never thought I’d say that.”

 

“Thanks,” Frank said, with a beaming smile. Then he paused, and frowned. “Wait—”

 

“It’s all designed to confuse us. Us, in particular. _Somebody_ is playing our game back at us.” Ray jabbed a finger at the list of victims. “These are random, the locations aren’t set. The only thing is the symbols. If we can crack the symbols, we can figure out what they’re doing.”

 

“Maybe it’s actually simple? Like, here, look, these are repeated.” Gerard pointed at the symbol which appeared twice in the second set, in the middle of the words. “So it’s probably the same letter, or represents the same thing.”

 

“Makes sense,” Ray said, nodding as he picked up the crayon rubbing Frank had done of the first one. “It’s here too, the fourth letter of the second word.”

 

“What are the most common letters in words?”

 

“E, T, A, O,” Brian listed off, holding up a finger for each. “T probably wouldn’t come in the middle of three-letter words like that, so that’s out. So, E, A, O. Few? Beg? For?”

 

“For somebody?” Bob questioned lightly.

 

“Yes!” Ray’s eyes were wide as he ran a finger over the second set. “The first word is probably for. Which means, that symbol is an o.”

 

“And I think that’s an E,” Gerard added, stabbing the symbol which looked like a twisted ‘M’. “If I was designing a symbol, I’d use ones similar to the Latin alphabet, since that seems to be the supernatural language of choice.”

 

“They also speak Aramaic,” Ray offered.

 

Brian was ignoring this in favour of staring intently at the symbols. Finally, he said, “In which case, is that an ‘R’ and an ‘S’?”, gesturing at the letters in the first half of the first one. They did look suspiciously like actual letters.

 

Pete was frowning as he sketched this out on a pad of paper, staring down at the words. “These – these look like...”

 

He stood up suddenly, and grabbed one of the books out of Ray’s hands rather violently. He began leafing through frantically, then stopped suddenly on one page, and ran his finger down it and stabbed something.

 

In big letters, he copied whatever he’d found in the book onto one of the empty pages on the table, and then stepped back triumphantly.

 

On the page, the symbols stared back where he’d hastily scribbled them, but underneath them, he’d copied out the translation.

 

_RISE BELOW_

_FOR YOU_

_MY QUEEN_

 

“This is bad, guys. This is real bad.”


	9. “I’ll have to flay you. It’s what friends do.”

“So, I guess you were right,” Bob said finally, after they’d had some time to stare at the new translation and let the implication settle in. “We have ourselves a queen vampire to deal with.”

 

“I have never wished I was less right,” Gerard said, his voice slightly muffled by the fact he’d slumped face first into one of the books he was meant to be reading. Pete made an angry noise under his breath, and yanked the book away, muttering something along the lines of ‘old… show some respect… you little shit’.

 

“We don’t know it’s particularly that queen, but...” Pete paused, looking a little wary for a moment, before adding, “It is very similar to her entry in the Book.”

 

“The Book?” Gerard glanced between the group. Ray, Bob, Brian and Pete were all exchanging looks which betrayed more than their expressions.

 

“The Book of Summoning,” Brian explained finally. He was sitting in one of the chairs now, pencil gripped tightly in his fingers. “It’s a complete book of all the known supernatural creatures that can be summoned and the various ways to do it.”

 

“Did nobody object to putting that all in one place? Like, you want to be an evil supervillain, here are the methods to do so, all in a handy 7-page leaflet.”

 

Brian’s face looked more pinched by the second. “It’s under _supervision_. Candy is one of the ones who helps guard it.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure the demon guard makes perfect sense to you guys, but forgive me if I’m a little bit wary of handing a book of evil summoning to a demon after what happened at the mayor’s office.”

 

Ray suddenly sat up straighter. “The _mayor_...”

 

**

 

“I’ve told you guys before, I’m no goddamn demon,” the mayor said firmly.

 

“We’re not saying you are, we’re just wondering if you can tell us a little bit more about Lisa.” Bob looked and sounded perfectly calm, but his hand was on his hip, where a small dagger had been strapped, and Gerard had seen him sliding some into wrist guards as well earlier which terrified him, because how did you do things like stretch without slicing open an artery?

 

“She was – a good worker.” The mayor shifted his feet, and shuffled some papers on his desk. “I’d rather not speak ill of the dead. She is at peace now.”

 

“Strange, isn’t it? We’ve asked around. She attended church regularly, had a good relationship with her pastor – not quite the normal type to go inviting demons into her life.”

 

The mayor’s expression tightened slightly. “I’d like you guys to leave. You are making a scene.”

 

Bob stepped forward once more, levelling his dagger at the mayor’s slightly surprised face, and said, “You know something, and we will get to the bottom of this. Maybe you should consider what side you _really_ want to be on.”

 

**

 

“Well, that was useless,” Frank announced as they left the building. He was squinting at the setting sun. “What a waste of time.”

 

“It wasn’t a waste,” Ray stressed.

 

Gerard’s eye, however, had been caught by a man standing nearby, leaning against the side of the building.

 

“Gerard, what’s wrong?” Frank asked softly, touching the curve of his arm.

 

The man’s hair glinted in the sunlight, like burnished gold. His features were half-obscured by the smoke of the cigarette dangling from his lips. He seemed almost ghostly and unreal, the warmth of the sunset washing over his features and drawing out the golden in his eyes.

 

“I know him,” Gerard said finally, turning back to the others. “I don’t – I don’t know where. But I do.”

 

“You shouldn’t talk to old friends,” Ray said. “Not right now.”

 

Bob had frozen then, though. His shoulders were stiff.

 

“That’s no old friend,” he whispered softly. “That’s a _vampire_.”

 

“A vampire?” Gerard squeaked, slightly surprised that he’d recognised a fellow vampire, and not quite sure he wanted to know why. He whirled around, intent on looking at the guy some more, and his stomach dropped when he realised the strange guy had disappeared.

 

Ray was looking disapprovingly in the man’s direction, as if he could judge him into behaving, which he was actually rather good at.

 

“Come on,” Bob said finally. “Brian’s waiting for us.”

 

**

 

As soon as they got back to the head quarters, Ray and Bob and Brian disappeared into one of the rooms, locking the door behind them. Gerard watched them go, only slightly put out that he wasn’t being included, and decided instead to relax on the sofa. For some reason, he felt extra tired today, as if somebody had sapped the very energy from his bones.

 

He’d barely sat down when suddenly Frank’s head popped over the back of the sofa, and he shot Gerard a brilliant grin. “Want to play shoot the apple with me and Pete?”

 

“What are the rules?” Gerard asked warily, already too-well acquainted with Frank’s slightly sadistic streak.

 

“You shoot an arrow at an apple,” Frank said, as if this was obvious.

 

“I see –”

 

“Which has to be balanced on somebody else’s body part,” he finished. “So, you wanna join? Pete’s gonna try and finally get it off my bellybutton.”

 

“Has he tried before?”

 

Frank waved a hand in the air. “Oh, a few times. He’s not a very good aim.”  


“Right,” Gerard said, thinking privately that 'not a very good aim' and 'shooting apples of body parts' was not a very good mix, and one that he was quite happy to stay out of. “I think I’m okay. I might just got to bed, it’s already evening.”

 

“Suit yourself! I bet I can get one off Pete’s ear.”

 

**

 

The woods were colder than they should be, even in the dead of night. The wind was whistling through the trees like a mourning song, and the moonlight was sparse. The leaves crunched under his feet as he walked, not quite sure where he was going, but knowing he must continue, even though his legs ached and his chest hurt.

 

Ahead, Gerard heard the long, low howl of a wolf, breaking the stillness. It was like being hit in the face with an ice-cold wave of wind or water; like night and cold and loneliness made audible, and terrifying.

 

He was not surprised when he saw her.

 

She was waiting, a few paces away, her long, dark hair swirling from some unseen wind, her beautiful, serene face as calm as ever. This time, there was no sign of her dangerously sharp teeth, or the bloodlust in her eyes.

 

She almost looked peaceful, lips slightly parted, eyes dark in the night as they stared into his. They sent a shiver of cold through his whole body, starting at his head and sliding down his spine like melted ice.

 

His first reaction was his hands flying to his face and covering his eyes, as if he was an actual child, where if he couldn’t see the monster, it didn’t actually exist. Somehow, this seemed to calm the turbulence in his mind, as if he had dulled the connection somehow.

 

The next thing he knew was the touch of ice on his wrist. Slowly, he lowered his hands, and he jumped when he realised she had moved close enough he could count every one of her eyelashes, impossibly inky-black against those icy eyes.

 

Her voice was soft as she whispered in his ear, cold fingertips pressed to his cheekbone, as she told him things he couldn’t hold onto, like water through his fingertips. _We are the creatures who rule the night. You and I are the chosen ones. We shall build an empire of the stars._ They were honey in the fog of his brain, sweet and addictive, and he leaned into the touch. It was comforting somehow, like the touch of a mother to a child.

 

Then, faintly, in the distance, he heard someone calling for him.

 

It seemed to break the spell, suddenly, snapping it like a piece of string.

 

**

 

He bolted upright in bed, hearing his own harsh gasps for air as if they came from somewhere else. There was a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest, near his heart, and he pressed his fist against it, trying to knead the pain away. His shirt was drenched in sweat, sticking to chest him uncomfortably.

 

The air felt hot and dry when he breathed in, and the room too warm.

 

He got up slowly, staring into the dark of the room. He could see Ray and Bob now curled up in their own beds. Ray’s hands were gripping the sheets tightly, and Bob was frowning, but they still looked more peaceful than when they were awake.

 

There was a light on in the living area.

 

Frank was curled up on the ragged sofa, clutching one of the worn pillows to his chest, and drinking orange juice out of the carton. There was a stake lying next to him on the sofa, as if he couldn’t bare to part from it for more than a minute.

 

Gerard watched from the doorway for a moment, hesitant to interrupt, when Frank’s head shot up and he looked straight at him.

 

“Didn’t take you for the peeping tom kind,” Frank said, before taking another swig from the orange juice.

 

Gerard wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, especially considering he could still see the strange woman flashing through his mind, and his heart was going way too fast to be healthy. “Uh.”

 

Frank’s expression turned from joking to concerned in a second, and then he was suddenly in Gerard’s space, putting his hands on Gerard’s shoulders and staring intently at him. “Something’s wrong,” he said finally. He gently manoeuvrered Gerard over to the sofa and pushed him down into his vacated seat, kicking the stake to one side to clear some room.

 

“Tell me what’s going on, or I’ll have to flay you. It’s what friends do.”

 

“No flaying,” Gerard replied weakly. He took another deep breath, and then recounted the strange dream he’d just had, how it had felt so real, like he’d actually been transported to another place. How cold her hands had been, even to him. The half-whispered words in his ears.

 

Frank slowly began frowning with every word. He took a seat on the coffee table in front of Gerard, and cocked his head to the side, as if considering the new information.

 

“It sounds like something you need to tell the others,” he said finally.

 

“I don’t – it was just a dream, right?”

 

Frank gave him a flat look. “Vampires don’t dream.”


	10. “I’ll vivisect you both and wear your spleens as hats.”

Frank went to wake up the others, and Gerard stayed on the sofa, staring at a hole in the wall opposite that looked suspiciously like it had been made by a throwing knife. That wouldn’t surprise him.

 

Ray’s hair looked even more ridiculous when he had bedhead, but he was frowning and he looked very serious, so Gerard thought this probably wasn’t the right time to point it out. He had his hands on his hips as he looked Gerard up and down.

 

“So, you’re… seeing things?” he asked cautiously. Bob and Frank were hovering behind him, as if waiting for him to take charge.

 

“I – I don’t know. I remember her face. She was saying something – I can’t remember what. And then, I woke up, gasping. I’ve never had a dream like it before.”

 

“Really?” Frank grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “I’ve had many. Normally end slightly different from that, though.”

 

“I think it’s time we brought in backup,” Ray said finally. “In the morning, we’re going to find the pack.”

 

“Oh god,” Bob moaned, low in his throat. “I only just got all the glitter out of my beard.”

 

**

 

The rest of Gerard’s night was little more than tossing and turning, fluffing his pillow, turning to stare at the walls and the ceiling in turn, and cursing himself for being too scared to fall asleep again.

 

Eventually, somehow, he slipped into a fretful sleep.

 

At daybreak, Ray woke them all up by throwing bloodpacks in their faces and yelling about wasting good sunlight. Gerard was about to point out _no sunlight_ was good in his books, but Ray had already disappeared, and Bob was emerging from his mountain of blankets, looking grumpy, and Gerard didn’t think he’d quite appreciate the wit.

 

Frank was waiting in the lounge, strapping knives to his various body parts and chewing loudly on a granola bar. Gerard was starkly reminded of a cow chewing cud.

 

Apparently, Bob felt the same way, because as he passed he smacked Frank around the back of the head, and the mouthful of half-chewed granola bar went flying across the room.

 

“Hey, man, uncalled for!” Frank said, throwing the rest of the granola bar in Bob’s general direction.

 

“Get in the _fucking van_ ,” Ray called cheerfully from the stairs. “Or I’ll vivisect you both and wear your spleens as hats.”

 

“Not technically vivisection in Bob’s case,” Frank muttered unhappily as picked up another granola bar from the counter and headed out.

 

**

 

Ray stopped the van outside of an old abandoned theatre about thirty miles north of the city, where there had once been a thriving district which was little more than a few boarded-up buildings now and tumbleweed. Gerard peered around, curious, as they piled out of the van. It looked like a ghost town that belonged in some kind of comic book, all dusty streets and a slightly eerie atmosphere.

 

They stood, looking up at the theatre for a moment. Gerard wasn’t sure why they were hesitating, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask.

 

“Who goes in first?” Bob asked finally, sounding pained.

 

“We’ll rock-paper-scissors for it,” Ray said firmly. “No cheating, Bob. I’m watching you.”

 

“At my school we used to say rock, paper, scissors, gun, get in the van,” Frank said. He’d somehow balanced a knife on the edge of his finger and was staring at it, fascinated. “But then again in my area it was a surprise if you didn’t fish a body part out of the lake when you went swimming.”

 

Bob swore when he lost the game of rock-paper-scissors, and he gave Ray a heavy glare as Ray gave him a friendly shove towards the massive doors. The paint was peeling, but Gerard could tell in the theatre’s heyday they’d been a beautiful crimson, tall and imposing to the theatre goers.

 

After taking a deep breath, Bob knocked three times with the door knocker which was shaped like a crescent moon.

 

The door creaked open, and Bob stepped through.

 

“So, do we… wait here?” Gerard asked after a moment, confused.

 

“Give it a second,” Ray said lightly.

 

As if waiting for these words, Bob came back out of the theatre, a dark look on his face. There was somebody hanging off his shoulders.

 

“I found you Brendon,” Bob spat, shrugging the man off his shoulders and pushing him bodily towards Ray.

 

Brendon, it turned out, was a rather odd-looking man, who had a big forehead and lots of carefully gelled hair. He was grinning, widely, as he took in them stood on the steps. “How did you find me?” he asked, bouncing on his heels. He was dressed almost as ridiculously as Pete, in a velvet cloak and very tight trousers which were probably closer to leggings, and calf-length boots. He looked a bit like he’d come straight out of a production of Shakespeare, updated for the modern age with more campiness.

 

Ray gave him a look which said much more than the rest of his expression. “You're a werewolf living in an old abandoned theatre. It kind of narrows the field of possibilities,” he explained. “Besides, you said north. This is the only theatre north for two hundred miles.”

 

Brendon looked a bit put-out. “I thought we were getting better at that,” he said, making a small face. “Would you like to come in? The others are… somewhere.”

 

“Lead the way,” Ray said with a small smile, while Bob grimaced behind him.

 

**

 

There seemed to be an awful lot of paisley patterns and checkered jackets and scarves and tambourines inside, draped over the back of chairs, and the smell of – Gerard’s nose wrinkled when he realised it was the scent of weed he could smell, which was all the more pungent now with his overactive nose.

 

Still, he was full on staring, because this was probably the most beautiful building he’d been in, and his fingers itched to get it on paper somehow. Even though the room was huge, somehow the stage took up most of it, draped in faded gold curtains. The staging and props were long-gone, but the wall at the back of the stage was still painted in navy blue and purple, and it glittered with stars. He wondered if the stars were accurate.

 

The ceiling was painted with scenes from famous plays, and he craned his neck so far trying to see them that he bumped straight into Frank, who had stopped to pick up a discarded guitar.

 

“Careful man,” Frank said, laughing gently, as he steadied Gerard. “Look at this beauty.”

 

He held up the guitar, which Gerard thought looked much like other guitars, but he nodded anyway. Frank looked strangely excited by it, and that made Gerard smile anyway.

 

“Why are you guys about?” Brendon called from the front, as he led Ray and Bob over to one of the many rows of old velvet seats and motioned for them to take a seat. He paused, then frowned for a moment, squinting at them. “Is it the full moon? It's not the full moon, is it? I downloaded one of those, um, menstrual cycle apps, it's meant to tell me when I'm due.”

 

Frank grabbed Gerard’s wrist and hurried them over to the group again.

 

Ray shook his head, and his hair went with the motion. “Relax, it’s like – a week out until the full moon. We need your help.”

 

Brendon’s grin dropped. “You never ask for help.” He looked between them, as if considering this, then he nodded. “Let me get the others, and then you can tell me why we should help you crazy motherfuckers.”

 

He bounded off, taking one long stride where most people would take three steps, and disappeared behind the stage’s curtains.

 

Bob made a noise under his breath. “ _We’re_ the crazy motherfuckers, sure.”


	11. “Sounds like the worst episode of Big Brother ever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello yes I disappeared off the face of the earth, please except my apologies. I had a flare up of my chronic illnesses and just ignored everything ever and I still am tbh but I wanted to continue this.

“So… you’re telling me that you guys are potentially fighting the lord of death.” Brendon leaned forward, his fingers steepled together, and his forehead wrinkled in what could either be confusion or interest, when Ray and Bob had finished telling the story.

 

Bob nodded. “And his wife.”

 

“Well, I guess that’s proof there’s somebody out there for everybody.”

 

Brendon had returned with a guy trailing behind him, looking worse for wear and very much not pleased to be dragged away from whatever he’d been doing. He was young, and very round-faced and round-eyed. He did not, in Gerard’s opinion, look particularly like a werewolf. But then again, what _did_ werewolves look like? Perhaps all the media had been wrong. For a minute, he wondered if there were any supernatural writers out there who were actually part of the supernatural. If he had to put bets on any, it would definitely be Stephen King.

 

“The problem is, we can’t figure out _why_ ,” Ray said, sighing and rubbing his chin. “It’s like there’s this massive puzzle and every other piece is missing.”

 

“I don’t see how this is any different from the normal shit you guys do,” Brendon said. “Don’t you remember the pool incident?”

 

“That was an _accident_.”

 

Brendon shrugged. His companion looked still miserable. Maybe that was a werewolf thing, but Gerard bet it was probably just a personality thing.

 

Finally, Brendon’s companion spoke up. “So, the mayor, the receptionist, the lord of death, his wife, and a vampire sire. Sounds like the worst episode of Big Brother ever.”

 

Frank, apparently bored of this discussion, started playing with Gerard’s hair. Gerard firmly ignored how good it felt. He was a professional.

 

“And where does your new tagalong come into it?” Brendon asked, jerking a thumb in Gerard’s direction. He tried not to bristle, sure that Brendon didn’t exactly mean to be rude, but he seemed rather – abrupt, generally.

 

Frank, apparently, did not care to give him the benefit of the doubt. He hissed, which was hilarious, and said, “His name is Gerard, and I will fight you if you say a bad word against him. We’re gonna get married. And raise a new generation of slayers.”

 

Bob narrowed his eyes. Ray stifled a snort.

 

“I – uh – I would like to be excluded from this narrative,” Gerard said, just in case anybody was listening to him. They weren’t, of course, but it was worth an attempt.

 

“It is a little suspicious,” Brendon’s friend said.

 

“Exactly, Ryan,” Brendon said, nodding. “He just happens to be in the right place at the wrong time, and gets himself turned, but remembers nothing, the sire just fucks off into the night and then the whole area explodes into a fiery ball of oh no?”

  
Frank scowled. “He _saved_ my _life_.”

 

“I save your life like twenty times a week,” Ray said under his breath towards Frank. Then he turned back to Brendon, “I think he’s connected, but I also think he’s an innocent party that’s been caught up in this all. Bob would have said anything if he was a psychopath in disguise.”

 

Ryan looked contemplative for a minute, then he turned to Brendon, and leaned in and started whispering heatedly in his ear. Brendon was making a strange expressions, a bastard morph of interest and disbelief. Gerard wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

 

Finally, Ryan sat back. Brendon paused for a moment, then he grinned.

 

“I think we have your answer. Come on,” he said, grandly, sweeping a hand around in an overly theatrical way.

 

Ray and Bob exchanged worried glances.

 

**

 

Brendon took them through the backstage of the theatre, which was dusty and stale, as if somehow the place hadn’t been disturbed in years (even if Gerard knew that wasn’t actually possible.) There was also the distinctive scent of wet dog lingering in the air.

 

He led them into a small, dark room, where there were empty rails for costumes either side, and several vanities with bulbs which had long since blown or been robbed.

 

“Is this really the time for dress up?” Ray questioned lightly, as Brendon made a bee-line for a wardrobe tucked into the far corner.

 

“Shh,” Ryan hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

 

Brendon returned, triumphantly, carrying – an old book? He was handling it as if it was as precious as a newborn.

 

“This, my friends, is your answer.”

 

“That’s a book,” Bob said.

 

“Correct. 50 points.” Brendon nodded enthusiastically, ignoring Bob’s death glare in response. “It is also a journal, and I think it may be of use to you. It describes an attempt in the early nineteenth century to reveal supernatural creatures to the wider world.”

 

This, apparently, was a Big Deal, because both Ray and Bob’s eyes widened, and Frank even paused his fidgeting. Gerard glanced between them, confused for a moment, and hoped to hell that somebody was going to explain this all to him.

 

That was a futile hope.

 

“Fuck,” Ray said, breathlessly. Brendon nodded, grinned, and held out the journal to him. Ray took it with the practised care of somebody used to handling antique books. “Holy fuck. We need to talk to Brian.”


	12. “A supernatural-human world war? I didn't even believe in homeopathy before this.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end is nigghhhh the end is nighhhh

Gerard decided, despite the fact he had no clue what was going on, to keep quiet as they hustled out of the theatre and back to the van. It all seemed very urgent and he wasn’t sure his questions were going to help at all. Ray and Bob were having a heated discussion under their breath, which he was sure he could pick up on if he wanted to – thanks to his brand new Vampire™ hearing – but he decided he probably wouldn’t understand any of it anyway.

 

Frank leapt into the back of the van first, and settled against the furthest window, and then beckoned for Gerard to sit next to him. As soon as he did, Frank pushed him so he was further away, then dragged him down so Gerard was half-lying on the seats, with his head in Frank’s lap.

 

“This is not comfortable,” Gerard said, just in case that made a difference. Frank just grinned down at him and went back to stroking his hair, and Gerard sighed, deciding that he could probably live with the uncomfortable position if it made Frank happy.

 

“What’s the big deal?” Gerard asked, once they were flying down the highway back to town and back to Brian.

 

Frank half-shrugged. “It could be wrong. I don’t know.”

 

“That – literally does not answer my question, at all.”

 

Frank seemed to be having an internal debate about whether to answer or not. Finally, he said, “You’re a red herring.”

 

“Red was never my colour,” Gerard said mournfully. “So, what? I’m here just to fuck with you guys?”

 

“Not exactly. I don’t think we were meant to take you onto our team. I think that’s something they didn’t plan for.” Frank sighed. “It’s – I mean, it’s complicated, right? But like, there’s an unspoken rule that the supernatural and the normal worlds don’t collide. They’ve been covering this up forever. The establishment, whatever. So, some people don’t think that’s a good idea. Some humans, some of us. There’s a lot of – factions, I suppose?”

 

“Fucking idiots,” Bob called from the front.

 

“That too. Anyway, yeah. So, sometimes somebody gets it into their head they’re gonna reveal the secret. Sometimes they have good intentions. Most of the time, they don’t. In fact, ninety percent of the time its because they’re hoping it’ll cause a massive war between us, and their side will come out on top.”

 

“I guess that makes sense… dumb as shit, but it makes sense.”

 

“Right. So. Sometimes vampires go on a siring spree. Sometimes werewolves bite a lot of people. And sometimes idiot humans summon demons.”

 

“Oh,” Gerard said, as it all clicked in his head. “ _Oh_. Fuck.”

 

Frank looked concerned. “Are you okay?”

 

“It's a lot to take in. I mean, a supernatural-human world war? I didn't even believe in homeopathy before this.”

 

**

 

“Motherfucker,” Brian snapped, when Ray filled him in with what they’d learned and handed over the journal. “Fuck – I should have – fucking – I will fucking murder someone, shitting fuck.”

 

“Language,” Pete chided, as he sauntered into the briefing room. There was something off about him, Gerard realised, but it was only when Pete raised a hand to wag a finger at Brian he realised what. He was missing three of his fingers on that hand. His hand looked more like it belonged to a hawk. Gerard visibly recoiled.

 

“Relax,” Pete said, when he noticed Gerard’s discomfort. “I had a bit of a tussle with a hellhound. They’ll grow back. I’m special.”

 

“Lidérc are fucking weird,” Frank declared, placing a hand on Gerard’s arm and guiding him to a seat at the table. He slumped down without a protest, still trying to handle all the new information he’d been presented with in the last hour or so. Apparently, somebody out there was trying to start a new world war, only this one would be between supernaturals and humans – and he, he realised, terrified, that would put him on the wrong side of his brother, and everybody he’d known in his life up until this point. Even the nice barista at Starbucks who had always smiled and exchanged small talk with him.

 

Brian had taken the seat at the head of the table, ignoring Pete’s dark looks, and he rapped his knuckles on the table to get everybody’s attention. The whole room fell silent instantly.

 

“We need to get this under control as soon as possible. This is a serious deal. No fucking around. What do we know already?”

 

“Somebody’s summoned a possible demon, which is the lord of death, and his consort, a vetala,” Ray said. “They have a vampire on their side, possibly? Or he was under some kind of thrall, because he turned Gerard. Possibly as a distraction, but that seems – it doesn’t fit, you know? There’s something we’re missing.”

 

“Who are our suspects?” Brian asked the room at large.

 

“The mayor. Never fucking trust a republican,” Frank said vehemently.

 

“His receptionist,” Ray said. “Lisa. But she was killed, and I don’t think she was an active participant. I think she was collateral damage.”

 

“Me,” Gerard said quietly.

 

Everybody turned to look at him. There was a mixture of disbelief and confusion.

 

“I don’t remember anything about how I got turned, and I – feel like I’m connected to _her_ , somehow.” He didn’t have to explain who ‘her’ was – they knew he was referring to the vetala. “Like, she’s somebody I used to know, or should know, or – I don’t know, but it’s frustrating as hell. And you said you’d never seen a fledgling go full rage before,” he added, looking at Frank, who was glaring at him.

 

“Bull-fucking-shit,” Frank said. “I know you’re a good egg.”

 

Bob had remained quiet this whole time, but now he spoke up. “Do you have any suspicious missing, uh. Female relatives?”

 

Gerard raised an eyebrow. “No. Well.” He paused, frowning. “My mother left us when we were young. My brother was a baby. And my dad died. His sister raised us.”

 

Bob nodded, and exchanged a look with Ray.

 

“Oh,” Ray said, eyes wide. “You’re her son.”

 

“Her _son_?” Gerard screeched a little bit higher-pitched than he’d intended.

 

“Vetala are famous for seducing men and abandoning their children,” Bob explained patiently. “I doubt it makes a difference to them whether or not they’ve got a husband. And it adds up. If you’re the son of a vetala, you’re already somewhat supernatural. Getting turned to boot, well. You’d be insanely strong. In fact, I think that explains a lot.”

 

“You were meant to be a weapon,” Ray said, suddenly. “They turned you to have somebody on their side. Or rather, the vetala – your mother – was meant to lure you onto their side, somehow. Maybe without even realising it. But we got to you first.”

 

“Saving lives, one fire escape scaled at a time!” Frank said happily.

 

“Welcome to the bastard child club,” Pete said, probably with a little bit too much excitement for Gerard’s comfort.

 

**

 

They spent a long time talking, but even then, it didn’t feel like they had come to any conclusions.

 

“Do we have a plan?” Gerard asked as they walked out to the van. The furthest they seemed to have got was to agree they needed to confront the mayor, and possibly a demon, and maybe his vetala wife, all at once. Which seemed overly ambitious, but nobody seemed quite as worried as Gerard felt they should be about this prospect.

 

“No, why would we ever do that?” Frank asked, teasingly, as he shifted the samurai sword he’d picked up to his other hand with practised ease and petted Gerard’s side affectionately.

 

Pete had decided to come along this time. He was spinning a dagger on one of the only fingers he still had on his right hand. Gerard tried not to stare.

 

“It’s simple. We kill the Batman,” Pete declared, flipping the dagger to his other hand and sliding it into a holder on his side.

 

“Don’t split up. There’s safety in numbers,” Brian said, as they gathered up supplies and loaded them in. Ray was checking his crossbow and refilling the bolts. There was that fucking flare gun again, now nestled beside a wickedly-sharp looking knife and what could have been a vial of poison or Orange Soda.

 

“Death in numbers. Pretty certain that's called a massacre and it fucking sucks.” Frank put his free hand on Gerard’s shoulder then, and squeezed. It was apparently meant to be a reassuring gesture, but Gerard was too jittery for anything that simple to work.

 

“I don’t know if I should come with you,” he said, anxiously, exchanging glances with the others. “What if – what if I’m a sleeper agent?”

 

“I could take you,” Frank said, sizing him up. “Besides, we need you there in case we need somebody to go Hulk smash.”

 

“Here,” Bob said, throwing a familiar blue vial at him. “Drink up.”

 

Apparently that was the end of that discussion. Gerard drank the disgusting liquid, and managed not to choke on it, which he counted as a success.


	13. “I'm a psychopath, I'm not bad-mannered.”

The first issue they encountered was that it was almost midnight now, and the mayor was unlikely to be hanging out at the city hall overnight, so they had to find his personal home.

 

That actually wasn’t so much of an issue, thanks to Brian and his – methods, which Gerard was too scared to question.

 

The actual issue was the six foot tall fence that surrounded it. They found this out when they parked the van a street away and walked the rest of the way on foot. Between the bars of the wrought iron fence, Gerard could see that the mayor’s house was a sprawling behemoth that put most of the surrounding area to shame. The luxurious lawns were immaculately trimmed. Gerard decided, psychopath or not, he hated him for the house alone.

 

Frank eyed up the fence for about two whole seconds, and then took a running leap at it, grabbing the top and managing to lever himself up so he was balancing on top, like a slightly unsteady acrobat. He grinned down at them, obviously impressed at himself.

 

“What are you doing? Why don't you just text him, tell him we're coming?” Bob whispered, somehow sounding angry and judgemental despite the lack of volume.

 

“I think he’s gonna be expecting us soon enough,” Frank replied, shrugging. He wobbled slightly with the movement, and for one heart-stopping moment Gerard expected him to fall, but then he steadied himself by shifting his weight between his feet.

 

“Sure, let’s give the evil psychopath extra time to prepare. Why don’t we just tie ourselves up and hand ourselves over?”

 

“You can, but I might get over excited.”

 

“I fucking hate you.”

 

“We could just use the open gate,” Gerard suggested, pointing at thumb to the left where there was indeed an open gate into the back garden.

 

Frank hopped down from the fence on the other side like a nimble cat, and the others followed Bob through the open gate, slipping between the gap that was already there in case opening the gate more made a noise in the quiet night.

 

“So, now what?” Gerard questioned as they gathered in the shade of the trees, far enough away to be hidden from any human gaze.

 

“Pete can pick locks,” Ray explained, speaking quietly out the corner of his mouth, which would have been amusing if Gerard hadn’t been so shit scared right then. Pete nodded enthusiastically at this, and bounded off into the dark, apparently off to find a lock to pick and their way into the house.

 

“What if there’s guards? Or like, dogs?”

 

Ray wiggled his fingers. “I’ll persuade them.”

 

Gerard thought of the dreamy look the security guard had adopted back at the city hall, and shifted uncomfortably. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, even if he knew it was ridiculous. Ray was on _their_ side, but he thought of others who may use the power for something far more insidious.

 

Pete was back in what seemed like moments, and there was an exchange of nods between him and Bob before Bob was motioning for them to follow him. Gerard dropped back, behind Frank, glancing uneasily over his shoulder.

 

There was a door, unlocked by Pete’s deft – hand? which they slipped through, into the cool darkness of what appeared to be a utility room. As Gerard crossed the threshold, he was hit with a sudden premonition of horror and darkness. He stopped dead, clenching his fists automatically, as goosebumps broke out across his arms and back. It felt like somebody had walked over his grave, like his skin was two sizes too small, and like his heart had been clenched in an ice-cold grip.

 

The others didn’t seem to notice at first, but then Frank glanced back, his eyes widened, and he hurried over. He took hold of Gerard’s arms. “Breathe,” he said, which made Gerard want to giggle at the absurdity of it. He didn’t even think he needed to breathe, but he did anyway, a force of habit, taking a slow, steady breath.

 

For some reason, the touch of another person seemed to help. The feeling of dread and death and hurt disappeared as suddenly as it came. He shook himself, disturbed.

 

“I’m fine,” he said, even though he felt like he’d just taken a dip in a freezing lake. Frank’s expression showed how little he believed this, but he said nothing else, squeezing Gerard’s arms gently and then letting go. He motioned for them to hurry up and catch up to the others, who had already disappeared into the next room.

 

They crept through the sprawling house with baited breath, with Ray taking the lead, glancing around corners before giving the all clear, his crossbow ready in his hand. Bob fell back to cover their rear, which left the rest of them in the middle, and somehow Gerard didn’t feel any safer.

 

**

 

He was waiting for them on the second floor. There was an expression of amusement on his face, as if this was all some sort of game to him.

 

“Welcome to my home!” he announced, spreading his arms wide. “I would say make yourselves at home, but I fear that you’re not here for a social call.” He glanced between the five of them with a quirk of his lip, smug, and Gerard wanted very much to scratch his entire face off.

 

“What a sweet greeting,” Ray said, jaw clenched.

 

“I'm a psychopath, I'm not bad-mannered,” the mayor said lightly. “So, you figured it out then?”

 

“You’re disgusting,” Frank snapped, spitting at him. “You make me _sick_.”

 

The mayor’s nose wrinkled up, and he stepped back. “I’m here to kill you, not judge you, but I would really prefer if you’d refrain from spitting on me.”

 

Bob growled, which probably would have been amusing if it wasn’t for the look on his face. He looked like he could easily burn a village down without flinching.

 

Ray, apparently bored of the evil villain speech moment they had going on, held up his free hand, and began yelling. _“Daemonium! Te rogamus, audi nos! Ostende te! Omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas!”_

 

The mayor’s face warped, bubbling up like a thick soup, like something was alive under his skin, and then his head snapped back with a loud crack, and he let out an animalistic scream. It dug under Gerard’s skin, tearing under his veins and muscles, boring down into his very bones. He shuddered.

 

The mayor turned his neck slowly in a full circle, which was completely inhuman, and then looked back at them with a cruel sneer on his lips. “Oh, you are such sweet creatures. He really thought he could control me? Another stupid one.” The mayor’s jaw stretched open, fighting against the constraints of his skin. “I am Belial, lord of death, devourer of worlds, the eternal. Open your arms to me, or _burn_.”

 

“Nice speech,” Frank said. “It needs a bit more conviction though. Maybe more emphasis on the lord of death part?”

 

The mayor’s face looked twisted in the half-light, a mockery of humanity in the sneer of his lip and the dark, bottomless pits of his eyes. In the irises, two fires danced. “In their last moments, people show you who they really are. And so far, I have realised that people are _cowards_.”

 

Pete’s face morphed into a snarl. He held up his hand, bloodied stumps and all, and snapped, “I'd have a human gesture for you, but I don't currently have the fingers to spare.”

 

The mayor-Belial hybrid cocked his head to the side, and then said, “How quaint. A toddler having a tantrum.” He was levitating a few feet off the ground now, and he spread his arms wide like a priest calling his children to prayer. “Time for a nap.”

 

Pete lurched forward, but then the mayor moved his infernal gaze on him, hissed low in his throat, and snapped, “ _Sonnum_!” and Pete’s eyes rolled back and he hit the ground with a dull thud.

 

Belial turned his attentions on Ray next, who was raising his crossbow in hand, and there was a moment where it seemed like time froze. Then, Ray was flying backwards with one twist of Belial’s hand, smashing into the wall with enough force to leave a human-sized dent.

 

“Fucking run,” Frank hissed out of the side of his mouth, as he launched himself forward.

 

“Fuck you,” Gerard snapped back. As if he was going to abandon his friends. He wasn’t that much of the asshole.

 

But then Bob was grabbing his arm and dragging him forcibly with him, and there was no hope in hell he could fight off Bob. He screamed and went to claw at Bob’s face, but Bob ducked away, and shoved him bodily through the door into another room.

 

Bob turned to face the open doorway, grim determination on his face.

 

A few seconds later, Frank was ducking in past his elbow.

 

“Barricade the door!” he yelled frantically, already shoving furniture towards it.

 

Gerard helped shove the desk and armchairs up against the door, hoping the somewhat-sturdy oak would hold for long enough. He glanced at Frank as he did so, and saw there was what looked like a claw swipe across his cheek and nose, bright red and dripping blood, but Frank grinned when he noticed the look, shaking off the blood like a dog might shake off raindrops.

 

Bob made a small noise under his breath. “Excellent work. Really beautiful job everyone,” he said dryly, as they all stepped back to observe their work. He motioned behind him. “Now, what should we do about the wall of windows?”

 

They both turned around and took in the sight of the massive, floor-to-ceiling windows that took up the back wall.

 

“Aw, shit.”


	14. “This is very not good.”

There was a tapping at the window.

 

The monster stared at them from outside, his head titled to the side.

 

Gerard wondered what he'd done to offend the Universe so badly he was in this situation.

 

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Belial raised his arm, and swept it forwards, smashing his fist into the glass. The windows shattered with that single hit, spraying the room with glass.

 

At the same time, Gerard ducked down behind an armchair, and dragged Frank down with him. A glance to the side showed that Bob had dived for cover on the other side of the room.

 

Glass crunched underfoot as Belial stepped into the room. “Come on, I know you’re in here,” Belial taunted. His voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard, like a fork scraped against glass, and Gerard’s brain was hit with a primitive-type of fear.

 

“That’s rather inconsiderate of you,” Frank yelled. “Who’s gonna clean up this mess?”

 

“Oh, there will be nobody left to care,” Belial replied. Gerard could imagine the horrible expression twisted on his inhuman face, that yawning mouth with too many teeth, the fire burning in his eyes. It was like a nightmare personified, like all his bad dreams as a child had stemmed from this one monster, somehow. “Humans are so very, very weak. They will accept death as a blessing.”

 

“Humans are pretty grand, really. I mean, they came up with Frankenberry! How can you want to kill a race that invented Frankenberry? Have you tried it?” Frank seemed to be talking a million miles a minute. He seemed like his only plan was possibly to talk the demon to death, which seemed like it was going to be rather ineffective.

 

“Enough!” Belial snapped. “I am bored of this game.”

 

“Really? I was going for a high score.”

 

Gerard glanced sideways and saw that Bob had something in his hands. It was small enough he couldn’t work out what it was, but then there was a flash of orange as Bob threw it over his shoulder, and it landed with a hollow thud.

 

There was no sound for a moment, and then, Belial’s laughter.

 

The room exploded.

 

**

 

Gerard’s first thoughts were of the apocalypse.

 

Smoke filled the room, and flames leapt up as if they were taking part in some monstrous dance.

 

“What the fuck,” he yelled, breathless and terrified. He was sure if he wasn’t already dead, it would have been this moment that his heart stopped entirely.

 

“One of my creations,” Frank replied excitedly. He looked proud, even though the room had been transformed into a hellscape. The flames crackled excitedly as they engulfed the books and wooden furniture.

 

“Well, I only had one, so we better fucking move,” Bob shouted. They leapt up as one, and Bob shoved the barricade away from the door, and pushed them both through first. He paused only to slam the door shut behind him, as if this would stop the lord of death from following, and then they legged it down the hallway without pausing to look behind them.

 

It was only a moment later that Gerard realised both Ray and Pete weren’t in the hallway anymore when they’d run past.

 

“Where’s –”

 

“They’re fine,” Bob interrupted, tapping his head. “I can sense them.”

 

Gerard didn’t feel very reassured, but he nodded.

 

It was only moments before Belial found them again. The mayor’s skin was barely there anymore, burnt and shredded, falling off his form in ribbons of flesh, like confetti in the breeze. The visceral form of the demon underneath bore no similarities anymore to the mayor, nor any kind of humanity. It was like he'd shed the disguise as easily as somebody might shed their coat after a long day, shrugging his shoulders and letting it slip off. His flesh was ashen gray, stretched too tight across the jutting bones of his face. His mouth was split at the sides, which allowed him to stretch it into a terrifying grin.

 

Gerard felt Belial’s contempt flood his bones, thoughts of fragile flesh protected by barely-there bones, too weak to handle a single blow, of vulnerable organs easily squished, of a skulls smashed into tiny pieces. His presence felt dark and full of hatred, but somehow soft too, cold like the mud of a freshly dug grave. Gerard felt like a hand had suddenly clenched around his heart and squeezed hard enough it might pop, like it was an overripe peach. A familiar sensation flooded his mind, and his arms throbbed uncomfortably.

 

The pain in his chest intensified into a single, stabbing point, and then it felt like the whole world shuddered to a stop. He was standing up without realising, and for a moment, an eternal moment, he met the demon’s gaze head on – the dancing inferno of his eyes.

 

He could hear voices, muffled and stretched out like they were being played in slow motion, but his attention was only on Belial. Somebody – he didn’t know who – was grabbing at his ankle, but he shrugged them angrily off and stepped forward so he was facing Belial in the open.

 

“Brave,” Belial said, and there was an expression that might have passed for amusement for a brief moment upon his face.

 

“Leave my friends alone.”

 

“And why would I ever do that? They’re such fun to play with.”

 

“I’ll go with you, I’ll help you. You can use me.”

 

There was something gruff and guttural in response, like an animal trying to laugh. “You are mistaken if you think you are important to me, but I must say it’s almost sweet you would want to save them so much.”

 

The intangible feeling of horror and darkness and doom Gerard had felt earlier returned with a vengeance, but this time, it didn't send him into a panic. He felt it flood towards him like it had been called, and somehow it felt like it was crawling through his veins, like it had always meant to be there.

 

Belial seemed to hesitate for a moment, barely perceptible, and then he lashed out. Gerard leapt forward. They clashed together with inhuman force. Belial attacked like a wild animal, teeth and claws swiping, trying to tear at his psuedo-human flesh. But Gerard was too quick – he felt the attacks before they landed, sharp pains dancing across his body, and that allowed him to dodge them without realising. There was a scream of rage as Gerard managed to strike Belial across the stomach, and black bile spewed out of the ragged depths of his mouth, teeth gnashing against air.

 

One after one, his blows struck true, sending Belial staggering backwards with the force. The demon seemed to have lost all sense, and he struck back blindly, enraged by his own pain. It was a vicious, desperate battle of survival. There was no skill, only a frenzy of fury and anger.

 

Claws scraped across Gerard’s side, and he hissed in pain, and that was the moment his rage climaxed. He went for the demon’s throat, and his teeth sunk into the ravaged flesh like butter.

 

Belial went down, screaming. His form seemed to shift suddenly, as if he’d lost control, and his flesh, once hard like armour, was now as soft as putty. Gerard wanted only to rend his throat into pieces, to shred it like paper, to destroy him completely. He fell on top of the demon, and slammed his hand through his chest, and tore his heart right out.

 

There was a sudden stillness in the air, and then the whole world shifted and blurred, and Gerard fell sideways. He felt disorientated and confused, like he’d been thrown through a washing cycle.

 

The demon was gone. In its place was only a stain of red on the grass.

 

It took Gerard a few long, slow moments before his brain caught up. He felt foggy and heavy, like he’d taken too many Xanax, and he was watching the world from a distant viewpoint. But then everything came snapping back. He was drenched in sweat, and his blood was fizzing, and he couldn’t see anything but dark blobs, insubstantial outlines of the others.

 

 _Grass_.

 

His vision cleared, and he looked around, eyes wide.

 

They were no longer in the mayor’s house. The whole scene had been replaced. There was only darkness and trees, and the coolness of the night on his bare arms. The canopy above was so dense that the moonlight could penetrate it only in a few lone areas, casting the world in nightmarish hues of blue and silver. They were surrounded by a thousand shadows suggestive of nothing familiar.

 

Frank was there suddenly, arms around Gerard, yelling something, but Gerard’s hearing was still fuzzy and wrong, and he shook his head trying to clear it.

 

Frank’s frantic yelling finally came through the sludge where his brain had once been. “What the fuck! You could have died!”

 

“Uh,” Bob said, quietly. “Has anyone else noticed that we’re in the forest, or is it just me?”

 

“Not just you,” Gerard said. “I don’t think this is good.”

 

“This is very not good,” Ray’s voice said from behind them.

 

Gerard spun, startled, and saw that Ray was holding up Pete, who looked bleary-eyed like he’d just awoken from a ten year nap. They were stood at the edge of the clearing the group had found themselves transported to, and there were twigs sticking out of Ray's hair, which might had been amusing in any other point in time. He was still holding his crossbow in his free hand, and the bag of supplies they’d brought was slung across his chest, so at least that had come with them too.

 

“What happened?” Pete asked, shaking himself and pulling himself up.

 

“The lord of death happened,” Bob said grimly. “And now I am rather concerned he may have left us a gift.”

 

“The vetala?” Gerard asked.

 

Bob shook his head, frowning. “I can’t feel her. It’s not – it’s different. It’s wrong. It feels like corruption.”

 

“She might have been sent back when Belial was,” Ray offered. His nostrils twitched, and he made a face like he’d smelled something rotten. “We don’t know if they were linked in the summoning.”

 

Gerard’s stomach dropped. “Oh,” he said, as he stared into the darkness nearby. “I think we have company.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe like two more chapters? Maybe. I'm not sure, depends how much more I fill out the events. 
> 
> THE END IS STILL NIGHHHH.
> 
> Also I'm sorry I'm v v bad at describing fighting. I am but a gentle pacifist.


	15. “Do you really want your last words to me to be you fucking asshole?”

Two unnaturally-yellow eyes stared back from the dark.

 

“ _Long… pig.”_ The voice, rattling like old bones, seemed to sink into his very core. Despite the fact his blood no longer ran around his body, he felt a chill slide around his veins. His breath caught like ice in his throat. He took two stumbling steps backwards, and then the eyes lurched forward – attached to something else, something horrific, something inhuman – and he turned, snatched Frank’s hand and ran.

 

Luckily, speed was on their side. He could hear leaves crunching afoot behind him, but he daren’t look back until they burst through into another clearing. The others were ahead of them, and he fell, gasping, into a pile in front of Ray, who had frozen, spine-rigid, eyes locked on the far side of the clearing.

 

“Get the fuck behind me!”

 

Gerard lurched to his feet, still gasping for breath, and hid behind Ray, because like fuck was he going to be the front-line defence against that… _thing_. He didn’t even know what it was, but he could still feel its presence, ice-cold and foreboding, on the edges of his mind. “What the _fuck_ was that?”

 

“Wendigo,” Ray said grimly, hoisting his crossbow into his arms. “I thought I could smell it. Evil spirits. Sometimes cannibals. Always bastards.”

 

Frank huffed something intelligible behind them, but Gerard saw as he pulled his stake out of the holder by his hip, and held it defensively in front of his heart. “Why does it always have to be evil cannibal spirits? Why for once can't it be a slightly rabid weremouse or an angry pixie?”

 

Bob grinned, quick and sharp. “That would be so much less fun,” he said. He glanced around the clearing, then drew himself up. “It’s close. I can feel it.”

 

Gerard couldn’t feel anything.

 

His heart twisted inside his chest as the creature slid into the clearing. It was skeletal, grey and slimy-looking, like something dead that had decayed underwater. An intense, bone-deep cold slid over him, like something was burying deep within his physical body and into his very soul. The air felt thick and coarse on his throat, and it smelled pungent and sweet, like rotten meat dripped in perfume.

 

Ray kept his crossbow up. “Come any closer, and I’ll shoot,” he said calmly.

 

He didn’t seem to expect a reply, but the creature lifted its snout and sniffed the air experimentally. _“Long… pigs… no… wrong… only one...”_

 

Its voice sounded raw, as if it was struggling to pronounce the words, and seemed to come from deep within its chest rather than from its mouth, with the long tongue hanging over jagged yellow fangs.

 

“ _Wrong… so wrong...”_

 

Ray’s aim was true when he fired the first bolt straight at the creature’s chest – aiming for the heart Gerard wasn’t sure was still there – but somehow the bolt twisted in the air and ended up glancing off the wendigo’s side. It recoiled, and hissed angrily, bringing up sharp, twisted claws into the air in front of its mutilated face.

 

“ _Spoiled food_ ,” it growled, and threw itself straight at Ray.

 

Immediately, Frank sprang forward, launching himself bodily at the creature. He barrelled into its shoulder and sent it skidding sideways, but Gerard knew that was a blow that would have sent any ordinary creature flying backwards. The stake that had been in Frank’s hands stuck out of the wendigo’s shoulder, but it the wendigo quickly recovered, dropping into a crouch and sneering up at Frank with its dead yellow eyes.

 

“ _Hungry.”_

 

Ray was already reloading his crossbow, but apparently that wasn’t much help against this creature. He fired off another found which barely skimmed the creature’s side.

 

“Fire!” yelled Bob, from the sidelines. He had a long branch in his hands. “Fire is its weakness.” He lit the branch with the lighter he’d dug out of his pocket and Gerard didn’t think to ask how he knew this.

 

As Frank danced away, dodging the creature’s attacks, Pete threw himself into the fray with the enthusiasm of a small child at playtime. There was a moment where Pete’s blows managed to hit, and he was pushing the creature further away, but then he was grabbed between skeletal hands, and throw bodily backwards. He landed with a dull thud, groaning, and was out cold a moment later.

 

Gerard watched as Frank threw himself forward at the creature again. For a moment, it appeared Frank had the advantage this time. The creature went slamming into the earth with the very pissed off slayer on top of it. Frank was fighting in a way that Gerard didn’t even know was possible: savagely, desperately, not holding anything back, screaming and growling deep in his throat with every attack.

 

And then the tide seemed to change in a moment. Frank was thrown viciously against the dirt, his head bouncing like a rubber ball, and the creature went for his throat.

 

He rolled sideways, barely missing the attack.

 

“Guys, a little fuckin’ help wouldn’t be amiss,” Frank gasped, dodging another swipe of those vicious claws.

 

Gerard tried to think, frantically, as Bob marched grimly on the creature, swiping his branch back and forth. Fire? There must be something which would kill the creature, with fire. His brain as awfully blank for a moment, and then it clicked.

 

The _flare gun._

 

He grappled desperately for the supply bag that Ray had dropped moments before, hooking the strap around his little finger and dragging it towards him. He dug through, chucking rations, rope, first aid kits and everything else on planet earth over his shoulders, before, finally, his hands closed around the flare gun right at the bottom.

 

He lifted his eyes up, hands only shaking slightly, in time to see the creature triumphantly lift a bloodied ragdoll into the air, and throw it with a sickening crunch into a tree. _Frank_.

 

For a moment, time seemed to slow down entirely, and then he lifted up the flare gun and carefully aimed it. New found rage had taken over, dismissing his fear, and he fired the gun without hesitation.

 

The creature looked confused for a single moment when the flare smacked straight into its chest. It made a horrible, sickening gurgling sound deep in its throat, and then its chest exploded into an arc of fire, gristle and bone.

 

Gerard ducked, but Ray, who had been loading his crossbow once more, wasn’t quite so lucky. A long, sinewy chunk of flesh flew straight into his face, landing with a nasty _squelch_.

 

Bob dropped the flaming branch and laughed until he was bent over double and holding on his knees in order to stay upright, but Gerard didn’t stop to appreciate this. He was already scrabbling over to Frank, who was still laid out on the floor, crumpled like a forgotten doll. His limbs were askew, bent the wrong way, and his head was lolling sideways.

 

His eyes were shut fast, and Gerard thought, if he ignored the smears of blood around his mouth and neck and chest where he’d been ravaged by the claws, and the twist of his body, he could be asleep.

 

“Frank,” he whispered, reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder. “Frank, wake _up_.”

 

Ray came over, and said, softly, “Stop, don’t – don’t touch him.”

 

“Is he – is he –”

 

He couldn’t force the words out. They caught in his throat.

 

“Slayers are resilient. They can withstand a lot more than normal humans.” But even Ray didn’t sound convinced.

 

Gerard felt numb. He blinked back the wet of tears in his eyes. “If I’d been faster – if I’d just thought _faster_...”

 

Bob made a soft noise behind him. “Don’t you fucking dare. Frank wouldn’t want you to say that shit.”

 

Gerard rocked back on his heels, hands shaking again, and said, “Guys. Leave. I need a moment.” He was surprised at how cold his voice sounded.

 

Ray seemed like he was going to argue for a moment, hesitating, but then Bob said, “Let’s go, um, call Brian for a ride,” and Ray made a noise of agreement. He went over to Pete, and lifted him to his feet, and Gerard waited until he heard their footsteps retreating, and then he shuffled closer to Frank. He took his head in his hands and cradled it in his lap. He didn’t hold back the tears then. They ran freely down his face, smearing with the dirt already there, and dripped onto his neck.

 

“You can’t fucking do this to me, Frank,” he whispered. “You’re the most annoying person in the world, but you’re _our_ annoying person. We need you. _I_ need you.” He let his eyes close then, unable to keep looking down at the jagged wounds that criss-crossed Frank’s chest. His throat felt tight, like somebody had a hand around it and was choking him slowly. “ _Frank_.”

 

“I always wanted somebody to cry over me,” Frank’s voice said.

 

His eyes snapped open. He couldn’t believe it, but Frank’s eyes were focused on him.

 

“You called?” Frank asked. Gerard thought he was trying to sound light-hearted, but his voice cracked in his throat.

 

“You fucking – little fucking shit, I thought you’d died, I thought – oh my fucking god, I’m going to _kill_ you.”

 

Frank’s laugh rattled in his chest. He sounded like death. “Don’t worry. I think that thing did a good enough job. I can’t feel my legs. Do you think I’ve still got legs?”

 

Gerard glanced at the twisted mess of Frank’s legs and swallowed. “Um,” he said.

 

“That good, doc?”

 

“I – can’t believe you tried to fight that shit fucking solo, you asshole. You fucking asshole.”

 

“Do you really want your last words to me to be _you fucking asshole_?”

 

“You’re not going to die.”

 

Frank hummed, low in his throat, and said, “I love you, but you’re pretty fucking dense. I’m gonna die, man. I’m a slayer, not a fucking immortal like you.”

 

“The slayer,” Gerard corrected without meaning to. Frank’s mouth twitched slightly. And then Frank’s words hit him. _Immortal_.

 

Of _course_.

 

Frank’s eyes were already shut tight again. His chest was still rising and falling, albeit slowly and laboriously, but at least he was still alive. Gerard glanced at the clearing quickly, making sure Bob and Ray were nowhere nearby, and then he pushed his own jacket up slightly, revealing one of his pale wrists. Without trying to focus on it too much, he brought his wrist up to his mouth and slid one of his razor sharp fangs over it. The blood swelled up immediately, pitch black and stale. With one shaking hand, he forced Frank’s mouth open and let it drip down onto his tongue.

 

And then he bent over and let his fangs pierce Frank’s neck like a knife through butter. When the blood hit his tongue, he almost recoiled. It tasted wrong, rotten somehow, as if the wendigo had corrupted it with its claws. But he persisted anyway, taking as little as possible into his mouth and choking it back, and letting his own blood drip into Frank’s mouth with his wrist pressed tight against Frank’s mouth.

 

When he was sure that it had been long enough, he sat back on his heels. Frank’s eyes didn’t open, but his chest was still rising and falling.

 

Gerard let out a hissed breath, hoping against all hope.

 

**

 

Ray and Bob came back a moment later, without Pete (who hopefully was now somewhere a bit safer) and immediately Ray froze, eyes wide. “What did you _do_ ,” he said, flat and angry. His nostrils seemed to be flaring slightly. Gerard knew that vampires smelled differently, but he was surprised he’d picked it up so quickly.

 

“I had to, Ray, he was – I had to.” His voice cracked despite his attempts to sound defiant.

 

“You – you can’t just fucking – a fucking _slayer_ , oh – fuck, I am going to be fucking burned at the stake.” Ray’s expression shifted from anger to fear for one fleeting moment, and then he was bounding over. “Did it _work?_ ” he asked in a hissed breath, as if he was worried that the powers that be would hear.

 

Gerard shrugged miserably. “I don’t know.”

 

“We need to get somewhere safe,” Bob said flatly. Gerard startled slightly, but Bob didn’t look angry. He looked slightly weary, which was to be expected after the fights they’d just had. With a grim nod, Ray took hold of Frank.

 

“We will talk about this,” Ray said.


	16. “I thought this was the part where we have Unresolved Sexual Tension.”

Brian’s first words to them when he turned up, screeching, in the van, were less than complimentary. “Motherfuckers, I swear to god, you are going to send me to an early grave, and my mother is going to blame you all.”

 

“You don’t have a mother,” Ray said, his tone flat and unamused.

 

“Well, I’ll find one, just so I can get her to blame you,” Brian replied sharply. He looked between their group, and his gaze softened almost imperceptibly. For a moment, his eyes lingered on Frank, who was in Ray’s arms. He looked beyond help, head lolling back, eyes shut fast.

 

Brian said nothing more. He swung the back doors of the van open, and helped Ray settle him inside on the floor, and cover him with a blanket up to his chin. It helped the illusion he was simply sleeping.

 

Nobody spoke the whole ride back.

 

**

 

“I can’t believe I was knocked out for both fights,” Pete moaned, holding a wet flannel to his forehead with his intact hand. He was sprawled on one of the beds back at headquarters, although Gerard wasn’t sure it was his, and he looked like he’d been through hell and back.

 

“You did help with the wendigo,” Gerard offered.

 

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Pete said, “although I might feel better with a get well kiss?”

 

“Not a chance in hell.”

 

“Oh man, I thought this was the part where we have Unresolved Sexual Tension.”

 

Gerard shrugged. “I'm not really feeling it, but I suppose that's because I'm dead and I don't think dead people feel all that much.”

 

“It was worth a try.” Pete groaned once more, and rolled over, curling up tightly into a ball. “Oh, my liver hurts. I didn’t even know it was possible for my liver to hurt.”

 

**

 

Brian took Gerard aside a moment later, into a room which looked like it might have once been an office, only now any desk and chair had been buried under a mound of books, and the air was heavy with dust.

 

“So,” he said, his expression neutral but his eyes betraying the gravity of the situation.

 

“I had to,” Gerard said, desperately, without even thinking. “I couldn’t – we couldn’t –”

 

“I know,” Brian interrupted. “You shouldn’t have. But I know. I understand.”

 

“You do?”

 

Brian moved to lean against the almost-buried desk, and placed his hands on it to support himself. “This is a serious matter. We have codes we are meant to follow.”

 

Gerard’s face was so hot with shame and unease it could probably cook something. “Is there some kind of high council that’s going to judge me?” He thought of the cliché council of elders, in their sweeping, grandiose robes, standing around him in a circle, passing judgement. _The Omniscient Council of Vagueness._

 

“This isn’t a comic book. You’re not going to be punished, or judged, or thrown in some kind of eternal imprisonment where a crow pecks out your liver every day.”

 

Those all sounded horrible, so Gerard nodded, half-relieved.

 

“But you also must realise you are his sire, and as his sire, you have responsibility for him fully. You must be the one who stays with him, and helps his recovery, and you will have to explain everything when the time comes. _If_ , the time comes. And you will keep this a secret like your life depends on it. Because I will find a way to hurt you otherwise, and it will not be fun for either of us.”

 

Brian paused for a moment, and then smiled. “I’m sorry I have to do this. Thank you for what you did today. You saved a lot of people’s lives. You should be proud.”

 

Then he waved his hand, like a teacher dismissing class, and Gerard took the chance to escape, relieved that he no longer had to deal with heavy judgemental gaze he’d been subjected to.

 

**

 

Frank slept solid for two weeks. Every day, Gerard sat at his bedside, checking on him and making sure he hadn’t slipped from undead to straight up completely dead. He didn’t have a pulse anymore, but every so often, his eyes fluttered slightly. Somehow, his body seemed to be slowly, agonisingly knitting itself back together. Over night, the bones in his legs seemingly shifted back into position.

 

The wound on his throat took the longest to heal. For a while, it turned black at the edges, as if there was some inner corruption. Bob spent a lot of time mixing up new concoctions to slather over it, but nothing seemed to help, until one day Gerard watched, disgusted, as a gush of black slime spewed out of it all over their fresh bedsheets.

 

It smelled like death, sickly sweet and rotten.

 

If he’d had the ability to throw up these days, he’s sure he would have when he had to clean that up. Instead, he regurgitated some blood into the back of his mouth and had to swallow it back down.

 

On the sixteenth day, Frank’s eyes fluttered three times in one hour, and Gerard gathered them all to sit around his bed and watch just in case today was the day. Pete and Brian stayed attached to their books, sitting at a respectful distance, but Gerard and Ray were there at each side, holding Frank’s hands and watching like they were scared he might disappear.

 

It wasn’t that day, but when Gerard shuffled in the next morning, still half-asleep, he was startled to see Frank’s eyes open. They were unfocused, staring at the ceiling, but they were definitely open.

 

“Frank?” he tried, soft and hesitant.

 

There was a long, low groan from the bed. “I feel like death.”

 

“Uh, well...”

 

**

 

“Oh,” Frank said, when Gerard had finished explaining. He made a noise in the back of his throat, and then his eyes half-slid shut again. “’m hungry.”

 

Gerard hurried to grab one of the blood packs they’d been drip feeding into his mouth and handed it off to Frank.

 

After a moment, Frank took it, nose wrinkled up slightly. His body seemed to have different ideas though. His fangs slid out and his stomach made a low growling noise. Sighing, Frank pierced the packet with his fangs directly, ignoring the straw, and finished it in five greedy gulps.

 

Gerard silently handed him another one.

 

After two, Frank seemed to regain some of his former strength. He managed to sit up, wincing, and ignored Gerard’s squeaks of protest and flailing hands. “I’m fine,” he muttered. He frowned then, and reached up a finger to poke one of his new fangs. “ _Cool_.”

 

“You’re not mad, right?”

 

“Mad? Of course I’m fucking mad at you, man.” His voice was fierce and cold, and for a heartbeat, Gerard believed Frank, and his stomach dropped. But then Frank grinned, extra sharp with his two bloodied canines, and said, “I’m a vampire slayer that’s a goddamn _vampire_. It’s gonna be so fucking confusing introducing myself. I’m going to have to change my business cards!”

 

“I had to save your life,” Gerard mumbled, hunching in on himself.

 

Frank’s hand groped out and settled on his knee. “You wanted to keep me alive that much to annoy you guys? Oh, you sweetheart.”


	17. “Oh my god. I’m a slaypire.”

It only took two days, and Frank was back to his old self. He was still shuffling and wincing sometimes when he moved, but he was up, on his feet, which was a miracle enough, and he only had a long, faint white scar which stretched around his neck to show for it, although Gerard had seen the rest of his chest too. Where he’d had his chest tattoo, there were jagged sections missing where his flesh had knitted back together.

 

Still, he was alive, and Gerard couldn’t even believe that they’d come that close to losing him.

 

Apparently, Frank hadn’t had a change of heart about his personality though, despite how close he’d come to death.

 

He cornered both Gerard and Ray in the living area on the third day, then said, “Would you say I’m a vampire vampire slayer, or a vampire slayer vampire?”

 

“This is ridiculous,” Ray said flatly. “I’m in enough trouble for letting Gerard sire you in the first place. This isn’t the time for debating fucking sentence syntax.”

 

Frank frowned, a little furrow between his eyebrows which Gerard wanted to smooth away, then said, “I’m so confused. I can’t even decide between vermillion red or blood red for the background.” He lifted up the two little pieces of dark red card he was holding, which looked pretty much identical. Apparently, he thought otherwise. Gerard squinted at them for a moment, confused.

 

“I hate you,” Ray said.

 

“I mean, I’ve technically killed other slayers as well, right? So really, I’m a vampire slayer vampire that slays vampire slayers. Buffy, eat your fucking heart out!” He paused for a moment, and then his eyes widened dramatically, as if he hadn’t been rehearsing this speech in his head. “Oh my god. I’m a _slaypire_.”

 

“I’m going to find Bob,” Ray said after a moment, stepping neatly around Frank and heading for the door.

 

When he was gone, Frank turned on Gerard and said, “Well, what do you think?”

 

“Definitely slaypire,” he said firmly. “It’s got a certain _je ne sais quoi_ about it.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Frank paused, raising an eyebrow slightly, then he placed the pieces of red card down on the nearby table and said, “So, um. I’ve been meaning to mention something.”

 

Gerard’s breath stuttered in his throat. Frank had been distant since he woke up, and Gerard couldn’t help but think – despite his repeated reassurances – that he was mad at him for making him part of the undead. It was understandable, after all. And this was the point that he’d come out and say it, and he’d break Gerard’s heart into a thousand pieces and he’d never –

 

“Frank, you don’t – please don’t.” His voice came out quieter than he’d expected.

 

Frank’s expression seemed to harden for a second. “I _want_ you to know.”

 

Gerard went to argue again, but another glare from Frank meant he snapped his mouth closed. He settled back against the wall behind him, trying to get as far away from Frank’s glare as he could.

 

“Okay, so, I know, like. People say shit when they’re dying. So I could totally go with that excuse. But, it’s not true.” Frank took a deep breath and then said, all in a rush, “So, I think you’re pretty cool and I’m probably gonna like, fall in love with you. I think you should know it wasn’t like a spur of death thing. I want you to understand that.”

 

Gerard’s face was probably quite a picture. His mouth dropped open slightly and his eyes widened. He had not been expecting anything like that. “Uh,” he said, already feeling his cheeks flaming. It wasn’t fair, why did he have to blush still? He was a fucking _vampire_.

 

“I mean, you don’t have to, you know. Say it back. I totally understand!” Frank added hastily. “There’s no pressure. We can still be friends!”

 

“Um, I don’t want that,” Gerard heard himself say faintly. “To be just friends, that is.”

 

It was possible that Gerard might've been calmer while he shot a fucking wendigo in the heart with a flare gun. As it stood, his undead heart was doing little flips in his chest, like somebody had accidentally slipped him amphetamines.

 

Frank looked at him for a long moment, face unreadable, and then Frank grabbed his shirt and dragged him closer. His lips landed on Gerard’s for a fleeting moment, and Gerard felt his heart try to escape his body entirely through his mouth.

 

Rearing backwards, Frank said, “I – are we okay?”

 

Gerard nodded dumbly, and grabbed hold of Frank’s shoulder and pressed forward. Their lips slid to together again, and Gerard felt like his skin was on fire, glowing red-hot in the areas where Frank’s fingers pressed into his hips.

 

They kissed, slowly and lazily for a moment, and then Gerard pressed his nose into Frank’s neck, breathing in the smell of him. He smelled like – cinnamon, and outdoors, and rain. The combination was familiar and warm, like coming home after a long vacation.

 

“Oh good,” Ray said behind them. “This is new.”

 

“Ew,” Bob said, ever loquacious.

 

Gerard didn’t look around, but he heard a faint sigh, then, “I think they'll be at this for a while. We still have time for a drink and probably the director's cut of Lord of the Rings.”

 

**

 

It took a week, but Gerard eventually found himself questioning exactly what kind of mess he’d got himself into. Frank and him hadn’t spoken about it, but somehow slipped easily into some kind of routine, like they’d always meant to be there.

 

Still, it fucking sucked not knowing what to call it, which is why he found himself asking the dreaded question one night when they were curled up on the sofa in the main room of the hideout, talking about nothing in particular, wrapped up in one of the blankets from the bedrooms.

 

“What... are we?”

 

Frank paused for a moment. “Oh, I'm so glad you brought that up finally. I've been meaning to tell you. We're vampires.”

 

“That's not even funny,” Gerard replied sharply, narrowing his eyes. All he got in response was a grin, which crinkled at the corners of Frank’s eyes, and made his cheeks look like those of a chipmunk. “I mean, I just. I feel scared and crazy and insane all at once. You make me feel like I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff. I’m scared to lose you. I’m even more scared of this continuing.”

 

“This is turning into quite an ode to our love,” Frank said. “Keep it up. You know how to make me feel all tingly inside.”

 

Gerard scowled, and smacked his arm gently enough to show his displeasure, but not enough to leave a mark, and then he wriggled away on the sofa, huffily, and settled on the other side.

 

“I’m sorry,” Frank said softly. “If it helps, I’m scared too. I just think – this is worth being scared over, you know?”

 

“Yeah,” Gerard said, softening without wanting to. His voice just sounded so vulnerable and real it was hard not to.

 

Frank opened his mouth, about to say something more, when Bob calmly slammed the door open from the briefing room.

 

“Get ready.” He glanced briefly between the two of them, without a shift in his expression. “Delilah says there’s been a possible possession. We’ve been sent to investigate.”

 

“Duty calls,” Frank said, making an unhappy face. He pressed his fingers briefly to Gerard’s wrist, then untangled himself from the covers he’d wrapped tightly around them before, and got to his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it folks!!! Although you can guarantee I will go back and make edits to this, because I'm never completely happy with my writing.
> 
> I'm going to be writing a few one-shots in this universe because there's so much more to explore that there wasn't time for (esp. Mikey, bless him, he's gonna get some love I promise) and there's a lot of backstory that didn't fit in so yeah. Keep an eye out. Let me know if there's anything in particular you want to see written about. Thank you for sticking with me this far!


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